


The Mind Of Another

by Hankolijo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Character Death, Crime, Detective, Drug Use, Gen, Manipulation, Murder, Mystery, Police, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 15:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 54,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hankolijo/pseuds/Hankolijo
Summary: Tristen Sands is your average happy-go-lucky artist and children's song writer living in a beach house in Malibu. It's a rather peaceful life which he happily spends writing songs for children and making appearances in various kids shows. But nothing good lasts forever.Tristen finds himself waking up not in his Malibu beach house but in the hospital, attached to an IV drip. He finds out to his horror that he had been in a car crash and it's a miracle he's still alive. But what's even more disturbing is how he has lost an entire year, unable to recall a single thing leading up to the crash.And though he tries to return to his old life, things get worse as a serial killer begins killing off his neighbors, and Tristen finds clue after clue indicating one thing - he himself is the killer.Michael Colley, a young detective with an excellent track record, picks up on the case and finds that there is much more to these killings than at first might seem, and that they might not even be dealing with one killer - but several.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Note: This was originally written for NaNoWriMo 2015. If there are any glaring issues, spelling errors or inconsistencies, please, let me know in the comments so that I can fix them.*

 

_Tristen Sands_

"I'm just saying, if the little brats can't appreciate art, why bother?"

"Don't call them brats. And they appreciate it. Seeing the smiles on their faces as I perform is amazing."

"Psht, you do it for the money. Everyone does. That's how life goes."

I sighed. "I've said this before and I will say it again. I do not, nor have I ever done it for the money or the fame."

"Hot moms?"

"No, not for them, either."

"Then what?"

"Just drive the damn car, Jack."

He shrugged as he made a right turn off Pacific Coast Highway, over to St. Aidan's Preschool. I usually didn't ask people to give me rides like this, and certainly not Jack of all people, but I didn't have much of a choice that day. I had a 'gig' at St. Aidan's, performing some of my classics to the kiddies. And it was just on that day that someone had managed to siphon the gas out of my car. The cameras caught the guy in the act, but I still can't fathom why someone would decide to just do that.

Whatever the case, I didn't have the time to call a cab. Well, I did in theory, but you couldn't always trust how quickly those things got to you. So I begrudgingly made my way over to my neighbor's house.

He had opened the door, dressed in a bath robe; face not shaven, hair a mess, clearly having drunk rather heavily the previous day. It took a while to convince him to give me a ride with his Ferrari. And that's how the whole 'why would you sing to some kids that don't even respect your work' conversation started.

You see, Jack's also an artist. But, rather than doing what he does for the sake of art, he does it for the very same things he had listed off before. I found it somewhat pathetic, a grown man so obsessed with such childish things. But he seemed happy with his life, so more power to him, I supposed.

I stepped out of the car as he parked it in front of the school, and turned back to face him. He shut the door and rolled down the window.

"So, can you come by in two hours to pick me up? Should be done by then."

"Call a cab." He said and drove off, shutting the window along the way. Asshole.

Still, I turned back towards the school, a guitar on my back, a paintbrush in my pocket and smile on my face. I strutted to the entrance and stepped in, greeted by happy faces all around.

"Look, kids, it's Mister Sands!" One of the teachers said, smiling and winking at me as her pupils rushed forward to greet me. It took me about five minutes to get by, handing out high-fives to the boys, autographs for the lot of them and pets to teddy bears. I was rather used to it, but still it made me feel all warm inside to know these kids truly appreciated what I did, that they would still probably remember this day later, and know who I was.

I was lead by the teacher to the backstage area, as the kids were herded through the halls to take their seats in the main hall. A couple of minutes to prepare for show time. Unlike some of my other concerts, there were no makeup artists, no professional hairdressers or stylists. And I preferred it that way. Just a couple of teachers to tell me where all the lights are, where the little guys are seated, and to ask for some things to be signed for their own kids. It felt so much more appropriate for my job.

I took a huff of air, peeked through the curtains and, met by cheers from the rows and rows of children, stepped out.

"Hey, kids! Your wonderful teachers have asked me to pay you all a visit for being such great students! Better tell 'em thanks, but not before you tell 'em..."

"To put a sock in it!" The whole crowd exclaimed. It's so nice to work with a crowd that knows you routine. Really is.

I used that as an introduction to play one of my long time classics, 'Grampa's can of teeth'. And that's about all I can recall from that day.

The last day I remembered. 

 

 

 

I slowly opened my eyes, my head pounding. I grunted as I tried to sit up in my bed, but couldn't. I didn't know what had happened, all I could recall was... Well, not much. Not after I went out on stage, at least. I looked around, trying to make sense of it all. A realization quickly struck me. I wasn't in my room.

I was in a hospital bed.

I darted my head to my right to see an IV drip attached to my arm. With my eyes wide open, I inspected the rest of my body. A couple of healed scars on my arms, and seemingly one on my neck, though I could only sense it. My left leg didn't feel quite right, either. I blinked, slowly. Then tried to speak.

My mouth was completely dry. My attempt at verbal communication resulted in a coughing fit, which aggravated the 'not right' feeling in my leg, now turning it into full blown pain. I wished to scream but couldn't, coughing even more. A young, redheaded nurse rushed into the room, and gasped. Tears swelled up in my eyes, and through said tears I saw a doctor walk in, a middle aged man whose hair and neatly trimmed beard already showed signs of graying. I clenched my teeth and eyes, trying to get rid of the coughing and the pain, to halt it to at least an extent. I felt my hands and legs move, and something poke me in the leg. The pain stopped. I opened my eyes to see the nurse walking away in a hurry as the doctor looked me over.

"Mister Sands? My name is doctor Woodham. Can you hear me? Just give me a nod if you do, do not try to speak."

I nodded slightly, scared and confused.

"Good. Do you know what date it is?"

I swallowed. Did I? I wished I could say I did. That I was out for a couple days at most. But the scars indicated otherwise. And what had happened to my leg? I took a deep breath, and shook my head. The doctor nodded solemnly.

"I see. Try to rest, sir. I will return momentarily."

I nodded again, and the doctor stepped out of the room. As his white doctor's robe disappeared around the corner of the doorframe, I felt tears swell up in my eyes once more. But not out of pain this time.

How long had I been here? Why couldn't I recall anything? What... What had happened? My life was perfect the way it was, I didn't wish for it to change. What if whatever had happened to my leg was permanent? I'm a performer; I needed to be able to move freely for some of my acts. And what might've been more important, I needed to be able to interact with the children. To make them think of me not just as an idol, or a man on their TV screens, but as someone who they could just go out and play catch, or hide and seek, or anything else with if they wished.

So I cried. The nurse peeked in again and frowned. "Mister Sandy?" She asked in a soft voice, the type I would occasionally hear from mothers, who had gotten used to caring for their children, and would protect them. A sweet, comforting tone.

I looked up at her. I was about to speak, when she hushed me.

"No, no, no, don't try to speak. Doctor's orders. You should not strain yourself in any way." She stepped in, and looked me over. "I just came in to say that it's good to see you awake. My son wa- is a very big fan of you. I'm sure you'll make a full recovery and will go back to entertaining kids. You will go back to it, right?"

She had purposefully asked me not if I thought if I would be able to go back to it, or if I believed I could make a recovery from whatever had happened, but rather simply if I still would entertain children, if I still wished to do it. Clever, I suppose.

I smiled weakly and gave a slight nod. She beamed. "Great! I have work to attend to, but you wouldn't mind if my little boy came by some time to meet you, once you're better, would you?"

I smiled and shook my head. She gave me another beam before walking back out. That had cheered me up some, as I at least had something to look forward to. And she seemed rather certain that I would get better. I laid awake for a few moments. Trying to remember. But, alas, I dozed off. I awoke about a half an hour later. Neither the doctor nor the nurse was there, and I decided to take a better look around at the place.

It was, as one would expect, a clean, plain and sterile environment. A couple flowers, what I believe were carnations, had been set in a vase on the windowsill. It was late evening outside, the sun slowly setting behind the buildings. Judging by the surrounding area, I assumed it was the Los Robles Hospital & Medical Center. Though I had not been there before, having rarely gotten sick or hurt, I had heard good enough reviews from my peers.

There was not much else around that caught my eye. And the lack of anything actually hit me rather hard momentarily - No get well cards, no balloons, no flowers, unless the ones in the vase were gifted. I had a lot of friends and fans who, or so I would hope, would stop by and leave those things if I got hurt. This reinforced the fact that I had been here for a long time now.

I sighed, coughing lightly, and returned to idly waiting for the doctor to return.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Tristen Sands_

The doctor stepped into the room about ten minutes later, looking over a chart. After a short moment which seemed to last forever, he looked at me and spoke.

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Sands?" He asked.

I blinked, and nodded. I certainly did, as my mouth felt like a desert at the time. The nurse walked into the room, and the doctor turned to her.

"Catherine, please get Mr. Sands some water."

She nodded with a smile, and walked off. Less than a minute later, she returned. She walked up to my bed and held the glass by my lips as I drank greedily. I ended up choking slightly and coughing some water up. The nurse quickly took the glass away, patting me on the back lightly and wiping the water off of my chin with a napkin.

The doctor waited for my coughing to seize before speaking.

"Can you speak at all yet?"

I swallowed.

"Y-yes." I spoke in a hoarse raspy voice, coughing lightly afterwards.

"Good," the doctor responded, "but do not strain your voice too much. Let it recover some. Feel free to just nod or shake your head if I ask you a yes-no question."

I did, in fact, nod at that. The doctor looked over his chart once more.

"But first of all, I must ask: which is the last day you can remember?"

I gulped before answering. I know that what I am about to be told won't be good.

"M-May 16th, 2014."

The doctor and nurse exchanged a grave look.

"I am afraid you have missed... Over a year, then. It is currently September 8th. 2015."

My breathing became more rapid. I had known it had been long, I knew it would have been bad, but over a year!? No, no, no. No way I had been in the hospital for that long.

"What happened?" I asked and wheezed. The nurse hushed me and gently pushed me back in the bed, as I had half sat up by now. I didn't resist.

"You were in an accident." Woodham responded. "And were admitted to our hospital on March 19th, 2015, with severe internal and external bleeding, several bone fractures, second degree burns and very little chance of survival. Still, our surgeons and staff did their best, and, through some miracle, you survived."

I closed my eyes, trying my best to concentrate not on how I had lost so much time, or how I was injured, but on how I survived. There was a reason for it, surely. I opened up my eyes again, looked directly at the doctor, and nodded.

"Post traumatic amnesia is not uncommon after injuries like those that you had sustained. You have been in a coma for quite a while, after all. Luckily, it is hardly ever permanent. We will inform your relatives that you've awoken, and you will be able to stay here until you regain your memory, or until you feel comfortable with leaving."

I gave a slight nod, and remembered something.

"What about my leg?" I asked weakly. The doctor frowned slightly.

"I am afraid that while we did save you, certain amount of damage had already been done, specifically to your left leg. You will most likely have to deal with a limp from now on."

I had to shut my eyes yet again. That would definitely hurt some of my acts. ' _Well, I'll just have to get to doing some new ones, won't I_ ' I thought and reopened my eyes.

"Thank you, doctor." I said and wheezed a bit.

"There is a buzzer by your bed. If you ever need anything, just give it a press and someone will get right to you. Get some rest, Mr. Sands." Woodham gave the nurse a nod before heading back out into the hall. She smiled at me, and walked out as well. I returned to lying idly on my bed, wondering how much had I done, and how much had I missed.

 

It was early afternoon the next day, September 9th. I had been provided a pad and pencil by the hospital staff so I would have something to occupy my time, as well as allow me to write down anything at all I would remember about the past year in hopes of regaining my memory. Though it was more for the former, rather than the latter, as I couldn't recall a single thing, no matter how hard I tried. I guessed the trick is to not try at all, and instead devoted myself to songwriting.

The redheaded nurse from yesterday peeked in, smiling. Her name was Catherin Burrel. She was, as I had correctly guessed, a mother. A single mother at 28, at that. Combine that with a nurse's job, and you have a boatload of difficulties.

She had porcelain colored skin, and honey colored eyes. Her hair was somewhat short, forming bangs that framed her face. I had only spoken to her briefly, but she seemed like a wonderful conversation partner so far, though she didn't seem to like talking about herself at all.

"You have a visitor, Mr. Sandy!" She said in a chipper tone.

"Oh, is it your son?"

"No, he... Hasn't had the time to stop by. But someone has!"

She stepped in, and moments later, a familiar face walked in after her.

"Hey there, bro. How you holdin' up?" My brother Duncan asked, pushing his sunglasses up.

My brother had moved to central Los Angeles a couple of years back, having gotten a small time role in some big Hollywood production. It went uphill for him from there, and he apparently had been doing pretty well for himself over there. And it certainly showed.

He had gotten himself a tan during his time there, no longer the pale kid I knew, his hair was swept back and died blonde. He was dressed in a business-casual suit, no tie, having an expensive watch around his wrist. I couldn't tell apart the brand, never was too interested in those things. Either way, Duncan looked nothing like the college dropout he was when he set off to start his career.

"Why, what a pleasant surprise, Duncan. Didn't expect you to find the time to stop by, I know you have a busy life and all."

"You kidding? Of course I'd find the time to see my big bro, especially after the shit that's happened! Besides, I'm not working on any production at the moment."

"Well, I appreciate it. Thank you, Duncan."

"Don't mention it. Anyone other than me stop by yet?"

"No, but dad apparently said that he'd come as soon as he 'got back to the states'. Is he on vacation or something?"

"Business trip." He responded, plopping down on the edge of my bed. Catherin mouthed something about giving us our space to me and stepped out.

I did a double take at Duncan's response. Then snorted. "Dad? Business trip? You're kidding."

"What do yo- Oh, shit, sorry, right." He smacked himself on the forehead. "Uh, dad opened up his own business selling life insurance. It's been going pretty damn well."

"Oh, cool. Where'd he get the money?"

"Inheritaaaa- Uh. "

"..."

"Grandpa died. Heh. Forgot to mention that."

My face sunk. I wasn't too close to him, but it was still a hard hit to realize that I had missed a family member dying. I sighed.

"Anything else I've missed?"

Duncan placed a hand on his chin, thinking for a moment. "Well, where should we begin? Cousin Mary got engaged. Wedding's in two months, so you'll be able to attend. Jamie and John adopted a little boy. Mom's been on a fuckin' dating spree for a while now. I think dad's found someone, but he hasn't introduced me to her. I just have a hunch that not all his 'business trips' are really for business. Wink wink, nudge nudge." He smirked.

I nodded along as he spoke. I still had things to look forward to, then. I was still in contact with Mary, or, at the very least, had been back before the accident. Hadn't spoken too much with Uncle Jamie recently though, not that I could remember, at least.

"Good to know it hasn't been all bad while I was out."

"Yup." He removed his sunglasses from his forehead, folded them and stored them in his pocket. As I watched him do this, something caught my eye.

"Duncan, show me your hand." I asked, sitting up slightly.

He blinked. "'scuse me?"

"Come on, just do it."

He shrugged, and held his right hand out.

"Other one."

Duncan hesitated slightly. He then extended his left arm, letting me clearly see the tan lines around his ring fourth finger.

"You were engaged, weren't you?" I asked, looking back at his face.

"Yeah. It didn't work out, but eh, don't worry. Wasn't meant to be and all that." He smiled again, pulling his hand back.

And yet, I felt like there was something more to it. I didn't question him about it, but the fact I could see the tan lines so clearly meant that the breakup had happened recently.

We proceeded to chat for about a half an hour more. He told me about some smaller stuff that had happened during the time that I couldn't remember. Apparently, things had gone pretty much the same as always for me up until the accident. I asked him to bring recordings of some of my newer songs the next time he stopped by. Needed to get a feel for what my new work was like.

"Well, bro, I have to get myself checked into a hotel and deal with some other stuff. In the meantime, get better, 'kay?" He asked as he stood up, placing his sunglasses back over his eyes.

"Will do." I gave him a short wave as he walked out of the room. Then sighed. I began to write down everything Duncan had told me in my pad, hoping it would help jog my memory.

Once I was done, I set my pad aside and stared at the ceiling for a while. I had so many thoughts going through my head, so many questions, and I wished I had asked Duncan more.

Catherin poked her head in. "Did you have a good catching up with your brother?"

"Yes, I did, thank you. I really did miss a lot..."

"Well, be glad you won't miss more!" She beamed.

"Oh, I am. Say, any idea how long until I'm able to walk around some?" I asked, hoping it would be soon, as I was already getting really tired of being bedridden.

"Shouldn't be long. We'll have to do some exercise to you back on your feet, too!"

"Right, thanks."

"Would you like anything else?"

"No, I think I'm good for now."

"Alright. Remember to call if you need anything!" She said cheerily, and started out, but was met in the doorway by another familiar face. She blinked and stepped back as the casually dressed, slick haired bastard entered the room. He immediately went over to my bed, grinning.

"Ayy, Tris, my man! Good to see your eyes open at last, sleepin' beauty." Jack said as he took a seat on a nearby chair, reclining back. Catherin blinked and looked between us, confused.

I exhaled. "Don't worry, Miss Burrel, I know this man." I turned my head to him. "Why are you here, Jack?"

"What do you mean why I'm here? I'm here to pay my ol' buddy a visit after him being out of it for so long!" He glanced at Catherin, and then leaned closer to me.

"Who's the hottie?" He whispered. I rolled my eyes. At times it felt like he said the things he did merely because he wished to be a douche.

"A nurse. What the hell are you doing here, exactly? I can't recall the last time you've paid me a visit or done something to me out of the kindness of your heart, and I certainly don't think you've had the change of heart and sudden desire to 'pay me a visit' out of the blue."

"Alright, alright, take it easy on me, will ya? It's a dog-eat-dog world and all that jazz. The main reason I stopped by is so that once the press gets whiff of how you're back, they'd also find out that yours truly paid you a visit shortly after you awoke." He gave Catherin another glance. "And that's a nurse? What about the miniskirts, cute little hats and fishnet tights? What about the American dream, huh?" He said this in a louder tone, loud enough for her to hear.

He winked at me. Catherin scoffed and stormed out, grumbling.

"Get the hell out, Jack." I said sternly. Or as sternly as my still weak voice allowed, at least.

He grinned, and reclined in his seat again. "I know you don't like me, Tris. Pretty damn obvious, really. And I'm not a big fan of you, either. Still, we've always found a way to work together at times, haven't we? And that's what I'm proposing to you now. Remember that manager of yours? Winston?"

I slowly nodded. Strangely enough, Duncan hadn't mentioned him once while we talked.

"Well, shortly after you disappeared, he started losing cash. Started gambling. Before you know it..." He made a gun out of his fingers and placed it next to his head, then made a 'pop' sound with his lips. "Secretary found him dead in his office. Cameras showed some guys in suits heading in shortly before. Nobody got a clue if it was murder or suicide, and frankly, who gives a shit. The guy's dead."

My mouth had hung open as he had spoken, feeling a mix of horror, sadness, and complete disgust at the soulless bastard in front of me.

"And you're gonna have a pretty rough start with getting back in the business without a manager, won't you? Wouldn't want to end up doing just kids' birthday parties, now, would ya? Blab about how you don't do it for the cash all you want, but that beach house of yours won't keep paying for itself."

"I made it on my own when I started writing songs after High School. If I have to ditch the beach house, so be it."

"Yeah. Right. You're old news, 'Sandy'. You had your success before because you were young and 'hip'. And more importantly, you got lucky. Face it."

I wanted to tell him off, but, well, he was right. I got really lucky with encountering Winston and with everything before and after it, too. And he wasn't wrong about me being old news, either. I remembered well enough having a bit of trouble getting to do anything nationally back in 2014, and probably 2015; it was mostly all just local stuff. My art was what had mainly kept me afloat. And even that had been dying out some.

"What do you want?" I asked begrudgingly. He snickered and pulled out a business card.

"Call me once you can. I have a couple of simple jobs for you. Do them for me, and I'll see about speaking with my manager about picking you up as well." He tossed the card onto the nightstand and stood up, heading towards the door. "Talk to you later, 'Mr. Sandy'." And off he was.

I picked the card up and stared at it for a while. I then placed it under my pillow, and pressed the buzzer on my bed. Had to apologize to Catherin about Jack, after all.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

_Tristen Sands_

I had been at the hospital for a week now, and today was the day I got signed out. I had spent the whole week mostly writing and exercising to get back in shape after the coma. Duncan had visited me once a day since I woke up, though dad still hadn't returned, apparently.

I had called Jack a day after he stopped by. Apparently he needed me to make some appearances with him on some talk shows and tell people he was 'a real help' and 'truly supportive' after I came back, as well as help endorse some cereal by writing a jingle for him. Well, it wasn't nearly as bad as I would expect from someone like him, at least.

I was buttoning up my jacket as nurse Burrel walked in and smiled at me.

"Are you all set, Mr. Sandy?" She asked. She hadn't called me by any other name during my time there, even in front of other staff. I honestly appreciated it, as it provided a rather comforting amount of silliness to the situation.

"I believe so." I responded. I was dressed in a light jacket, plain t-shirt and jeans, brought by Duncan the last time he stopped by. And I had a simple cane to help with my limp, too.

"Your brother's waiting for you outside. Remember, if you ever start feeling ill again to come back."

"Will do. Thank you, Catherin." I smiled and started limping towards the door.

"Oh, and, um, one more thing." She said. I turned back towards the nurse to see her holding a small piece of paper out to me.

"Yes?" I took the note, a bit confused.

"My son would probably still really like to meet you some time. If you ever find the time, it would mean the world to him and me if you could maybe give us a call?"

I read over the note. A number. I looked back up at her, and smiled.

"I'll be sure to. Until then, Catherin." I nodded my thanks and stepped out of the hospital. Through the halls, down the stairs, through the crowded reception area... And finally out, for the first time in God-knows-how-long. Duncan was waiting outside, stood by his old motorbike. I raised a brow as I approached him.

"You still drive this thing?" I asked, rather surprised by it.

"Yeah, why?"

"I had expected something... newer. More expensive."

He tossed me over a black bike helmet and put on his own, a red tinted one.

"Nah. This thing's got some history tied to it, after all." He got on it, and revved up the engine.

"Fair enough." I said as I climbed onto the back, holding onto Duncan's back, storing the cane between us. We then set off towards the beach. Heading home at last.

I unlocked my front door, stepped through, and looked around. It was clearly recently cleaned up, no dust or webs or anything to indicate it had been empty for so long.

It felt strange to stand there and inspect my own home like that. It felt like I had been there just a week ago, and it also felt like I haven't been there at all. There was some new artwork on the walls. There was a new potted fern by the door, and the asters on my windowsill were blooming. It felt so different, I shuddered.

Duncan noticed this and placed a hand on my shoulder. "You alright bro?"

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It just feels weird. The place is just... Different than I remember." I sighed and started hobbling towards the living room. Duncan followed along.

"How long are you going to stay in town?" I asked as I took a seat on my old armchair, in front of the coffee table. The living room hadn't changed much. Same old record player, TV, couch and chairs. And, of course, the bar at the far side of the room. There was a new carpet on the floor, but the layout hadn't changed one bit.

Duncan helped himself to a glass of bourbon from the bar. "I don't know. Not in much of a hurry to head back to Hollywood. Like I said, don't have any productions going on right now. Whiskey?" He offered.

"No, thanks." I blinked once. "Wait, that's my whiskey!"

"I bought it for you and you can't prove otherwise." He plopped down on the couch, taking a gulp. I smiled. It was good to have Duncan around, as he was the one person who didn't have any issue making light of the whole thing.

"How thoughtful of you to buy the kid's entertainer hard liquor." I said in a sarcastic tone, earning a chuckle from him.

We spent the rest of the day talking about nothing in particular, and he set off at eight. During our conversation I noticed how he, unlike the guy I knew when he was in high school, didn't talk about his successes in the movie industry, not once. Back in the day he'd brag about the smallest things, anything to make me proud. I supposed he had just gotten smarter and less self-obsessed as time went by.

I made my way up to my room, carefully, still trying to get used to the limp and cane. I stepped into my room, flicked on the light, and sat at the edge of my bed. I just sat there and thought for a minute.

Then I dug my photo book out of my nightstand. I had some catching up to do with myself.

 

 

I wasn't sure how long had I been up, or for long had I slept, but when I woke up, still fully dressed, it was already 11 AM. Damn.

I slowly got up, and glanced around. I hadn't even gotten under the covers. My clothes wrinkled, my hair and bed were a complete mess. Must've done some tossing and turning in my sleep. Leg felt a bit sore, too, so I supposed that would explain that much. I went about getting a shower, a shave and new set of clothes.

Once presentable enough, I limped down to the kitchen, almost tripping and falling at the bottom of the stairs. After stabilizing myself, I got to making breakfast. Orange juice, toast, bacon and eggs. After the food at the hospital, having a proper meal like this was a blessing. I shuffled over to the front door and picked up my newspaper, and was about to head back in, when something caught my eye.

There were cop cars around the beach house to the west of mine, the whole place taped off. I furrowed my brow and, paper tucked under my arm, went to investigate.

A crowd of onlookers had gathered around the scene, cops trying to convince the people that there was nothing to see there, and that they should head right off. I glanced at the mailbox, and was relieved to not recognize the surname. 'Bridges'.

Then I saw a stretcher get pulled out of the building, over to the ambulance parked nearby. There was a body bag on it.

I shuddered. Was someone actually murdered? Here? Now? Right after I got released? Jesus, that was a startling thought. And although I didn't recognize the surname, that didn't mean I didn't know the person. Or that I hadn't gotten to know them during the time that I had forgotten.

People were starting to take notice of me, whispering to each other and pointing. Though I would normally appreciate the attention, this was not such a time. I turned around and started hobbling back to my own house. I glanced back to see that nobody had decided to follow me or anything, clearly more interested in the scene for the time being. The ambulance set off, escorted by a police car.

I went back into my house and into the kitchen. My remaining piece of toast was cold now. I just sighed and cracked open the paper, trying to momentarily take my mind off the whole thing.

Needless to say, that didn't work.

I rushed upstairs once again, as fast as I could with my limp, and into my room. I grabbed my phone and the card Jack had given me, and dialed his number.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Y'ello?"

"Jack, how long has someone named 'Bridges' lived by here?"

"Huh? You mean your ex? Idunno, about a year now, why? Hey, Tris, you still there? Hellloooo?"

I ended the call and placed down my phone, sitting down on the bed. She had been my ex. Whoever she was, there was a point in time when we were together. And then I had forgotten about her completely, and she had died. I wasn't sure how to feel, what to think. Would it have been better if I had remembered her? If I could grieve for losing her? Or was it better that I felt so... Indifferent?

I sighed. I really didn't know. I supposed I could only know if and when I recovered my memories. So I went back downstairs, and tried to go on with my day.

It was 7 PM. I had spent the past couple of hours sitting in front of my piano, writing jingles for some silly cereal brands like Jack had ordered me to, when I heard the doorbell ring.

I went over and opened the door, expecting to see Duncan, or Jack, or one of the other neighbors. Instead, I was met by a police uniform and a gruff looking, buff man with a thick moustache and shaved head. He flashed his police license to me.

"Tristen Sands?" He asked in a gravelly voice.

"Y-Yes?"

"We would like to have a word with you. May we come in?" He shuffled aside slightly, revealing a younger man behind him, dressed in casual clothes. Short hair, well built, clean shaven, and a pair of dark frame glasses on his face.

"Yeah, of course, yeah." I took a step to the side and gestured for them to go in. The two men walked in without hesitation, glancing around. "Nice place." The younger officer said. He had a voice that was not too deep, nor too high, a voice that in itself sounded calculating and tactful.

"Thanks. Come on in, we can talk in the living room." I gestured for them to follow, gulping as I walked. Why did they come to me? I didn't remember a thing about Bridges, and would have preferred the chance to just forget. Then again, I supposed they were just interviewing everyone in the neighborhood. I would ask Jack later.

"Please, feel free to take a seat. May I offer you some coffee? Tea?" I asked and sat down in the armchair myself, setting my cane down next to the chair. I had a coffee pot and iced tea prepared, set on the coffee table. The larger man didn't sit, while the younger man took the seat in the armchair on the opposite side of me, nodding at the offer of coffee. He didn't speak as I poured it into a cup and handed it to him.

"Thank you, Mr. Sands. My name is Detective Michael Colley, and this here is Officer Devon Banker." He said, gesturing to the other man, not breaking eye contact with me for a second.

"I am certain you can guess why we're here. I saw you at the scene this morning. Quite tragic, isn't it?"

I blinked. "Uh, yeah. It is."

"You were quite close with Miss Bridges, after all. Or, well, used to be before your accident." He sipped the coffee. "How are you now, if I may ask?"

"Oh, uh. Better than how I was when I first woke up. I still don't remember anything from the past year."

"Is that so? Not even Miss Bridges?"

I shook my head slightly. "No. She wasn't a neighbor during the time I can recall."

"A shame. We were hoping you could shed light on some things for us."

"What things?" I asked. If she was my ex, and we had been separated since the incident at the very least, what could I have known?

"Oh, never mind. You shouldn't be troubled with things you don't even remember." He said, setting the cup down on a coaster. Then looked up into my eyes again. "That is, if you truly do not remember anything."

"Afraid not, no. I have been trying to remember for a while now. The doctor said that amnesia like this is rarely permanent, though."

"Very well then." He stood up. "If you manage to regain your memory, do call us." He placed a card on the coffee table. "We can let ourselves out, if you do not mind. But do lock your doors. We do have a murderer on our hands." And with that, the two were off, gone almost as fast as they arrived. As the door shut behind them, I sighed, pouring myself a glass of iced tea. I then took my phone out, and made a call.

"Jack? Did the police talk to you, too?"

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

_Michael Colley_

I walked out of Sands' house with Banker trailing behind me. It was half past 7 PM, and about time we headed back to the station.

"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Banker asked from behind. I didn't respond, and went over to our car. I unlocked it, and climbed in, gesturing for Banker to do the same.

Once he got in, I started up the engine. "There were cameras all around that place. Wouldn't be surprised if they recorded sound, too. Before his accident, Sands had to deal with some psychotic stalker that had been following him for over a year, and had additional security systems installed. As for your question, I believe he was."

"He was hesitant, though."

I turned on the headlights and started to drive down the road, towards the station.

"Not suspiciously so, though. A normal reaction for someone visited by the police, just after having to deal with finding out he had lost a whole year and a murder the day after returning."

Banker grunted for a response. The sun was already starting to set, the street lamps flicking on between the palm trees. I picked up speed, driving towards central LA.

"But that doesn't mean he wasn't lying. If he did remember, he had reason to get rid of Bridges, at least if our suspicions about her are true."

"Reason being?"

"Payback."

 

I spent the next few hours in front of my desk, looking over investigation files. There weren't many viable suspects at the time, other than Tristen Sands, his neighbor Jack Sleeks, and, what seemed rather likely at the time, a stalker obsessed with one of them - Sands, Sleeks, Bridges, didn't matter, stalkers were always nuts.

Sands and Bridges had been publicly together from September 9th, 2014 until March 17th, 2015, when they had a falling out of sorts. Two days later Sands was admitted to the Los Robles Hospital & Medical Center in critical condition as a result of a serious accident, in which Sands' car was plowed over by a truck. It was a miracle he had survived.

According to police records, Sands had been drinking rather heavily at the time, most likely due to the breakup with Bridges. According to some sources, they didn't leave on good terms, Bridges allegedly having cheated on Sands with a friend of his. That would qualify as a motive if Sands remembered it, but, as it stood I had no reason to believe that he did. Though the murder certainly felt personal- several stab wounds all over the body, lethal one to the back of the head.

Sands himself wasn't much of a criminal type himself. Well known Kids' artist, only a single conviction on his record from 98, apparently some drunk party involving underage drinking. Nothing major.

I moved onto files regarding the second suspect, Sleek. A commercial actor, pop artist and blogger. Respected by some, admired by others, despised by many. He had become known for his drunken escapades, sexual harassment lawsuits and overall sleazy personality.

He had previously been convicted for things such as drug abuse, vandalism, disorderly conduct, fraud and sexual harassment. A partner once claimed he had physically abused her, but not enough evidence was found to convict him.

Though his past didn't involve crimes as serious as breaking in and murder, and there was no obvious motive, he was still very much a viable suspect, and couldn't provide an alibi that anyone could confirm that night.

Both of their houses had cameras around them. We needed to find probable cause to get a search warrant view those tapes, of course. That was, unless we convinced them to show us that footage themselves.

I noted down that I had to ask them the next day, and went over to the reports from the forensics labs. They had managed to find both fingerprints and DNA samples from both suspects at the crime scene, as well as several unknown samples and prints. Interesting.

Forensics team also found that the cameras had all been removed entirely, as well as the tapes. No prints were found around either. This caught my attention quite a bit. When I say 'removed', I mean cleanly so. Whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing, and apparently managed to do so without leaving a trace.

The team also found tracks from a 17" motorcycle wheel in the driveway. Whether these were left by the killer was unknown.

I set the reports aside and stood up from my chair. I went over to the coffee machine to get myself a cup of black coffee to keep myself awake. It was almost midnight, and the station was mostly empty. Police chief Roland was still in his office, deep in paperwork. I glanced at him, and then went back to my desk, sipping the warm brew in my hand.

I retook my seat and picked up the report on the case involving Sands, Bridges and the obsessed stalker that had broken into Sands' house on multiple occasions. The stalker was identified as one Lee Demire, and had a restraining order put on her, not allowing her to get in 50 feet of Sands. Demire then began to stalk Bridges instead, in hopes of finding a way to get close to Sands. This resulted in her getting arrested in December of 2014.

She had recently been released from prison and, with Sands waking up from his coma, it wouldn't come as too much of a surprise that she would do something as rash as killing off Bridges, having the delusional belief that this woman was the person standing between her and Tristen.

So that makes it three. Three different suspects. I pinned their photos onto my wall, along with their supporting evidence, which wasn't much now. For the time being, the most evidence was against Sleek, but no obvious motive. Then again, at times men like him didn't need a motive. I sighed and stepped out of my office, heading to the chief.

"I believe I'll be calling it a night, sir. I'll visit Sleek and Sands with Banker in the morning again." I said as I looked in.

He looked up with a tired gaze. "Alright. Good night, Colley."

I nodded and headed out, picking my coat up along the way. It was starting to get a bit colder now, though not by much. It had been a very, very dry year.

I stepped out of the station and over to my car. I unlocked it, got in and turned on the radio. Smooth jazz began to flow out of the speakers, a tune I found calming. I backed out of the parking lot, and drove off home.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

_Tristen Sands_

I was lying awake in my bed, thinking. It was past midnight, but I was unable to fall asleep. Couldn't even shut my eyes since the police stopped by. Jack had also been visited by the police, and they were apparently worried that another killing might occur.

So, unable to sleep, I turned to my photo book and phone again. I scrolled through my contact list, and there she was. Michelle Bridges. She had a photo attached to her contact. A young, petite blonde girl with a bright smile and green eyes. I looked through my album for her.

She wasn't in a single photo. I noticed how there were missing pictures, though, more nearing the later ones. I guessed we had a falling out or something. She was my ex, after all.

I sighed, and tried to fall asleep once more.

I woke up at 9 AM. I had done much less tossing and turning that night, judging by the less wrinkly sheets. I went about my usual morning routine- shower, getting dressed, breakfast. I checked the clock afterwards. 10:30. I wondered if Catherin was awake. I had some free time, having finished the damn jingles last night. So I called her.

"Hi, Catherin Burrel speaking."

"Hey, Miss Burrel. It's Tristen."

"Oh, hiya, Mr. Sandy!" You could feel the cheerfulness over the phone, and it made me smile.

"I was just calling to see if we could find a good time for me to meet your son."

"Oh, sure! How about tomorrow evening?"

"Sure, yeah. Where should we meet up?"

"Um, my shift at the hospital ends at eight. Would you be able to make it there?"

"Yeah, that's no problem at all."

"Okay, see you then!"

"Right. See ya."

I put the phone down and watched it for a moment. I shuddered. What if it was my fault that Michelle died? She had been with me, and as soon as I came back someone killed her. Had I put Catherin in danger just now?

I shook it off. No, I was just going to go meet her son. I had to; it was my job to do things like that. Something I just had to get back to. It was my life.

I sighed as I put on my jacket and picked up my cane. I then stepped out into the fresh air, deciding to take a walk on the beach.

 

_Michael Colley_

"Is that Sands?" Banker pointed towards the beach asked as we got out of the car. I glanced at where he was pointing. The cane essentially gave it away.

"Indeed it is." I put my hands in my pockets.

"Well, let's go speak to him." He started towards him.

"Don't. It appears he is trying to clear his head with a walk. We shouldn't disturb him. Things such as this could be what brings his memory back."

"If he lost it to begin with." He grumbled.

"We don't have a reason to believe he didn't. For now, let's just visit Sleek." I locked the doors and walked towards his beach house, Banker begrudgingly following along.

I knocked on Sleek's door. A few moments passed before the intercom next to the door cracked to life.

"What? I already told you people I don't know anything. Wasn't even here."

"Yes, and your alibi checks out with the people you were with. But we would still like to speak with you."

"You're speaking to me now."

My lip twitched. I did not like this man. "Very well, then. Are you certain you don't know anyone who could have wanted Bridges dead?"

"Nah. I mean, Tris was pissed at her before the accident. Should check him out more."

He casually directed the blame towards his neighbor, and alleged friend. Hm.

"Alright. We would just like to ask for one more thing."

"What?"

"Would you be willing to give up the footage from your security cameras for our investigation?"

There was a pause.

"Do you have a warrant?" Sleek finally asked.

"No." Banker responded.

"Then no."

I glanced at Banker. Though he certainly had the rights to deny giving up the footage, both the pause and declining it made it suspicious.

"Very well. Sorry to bother you, sir." I turned on my heel, and headed back towards Sands' house.

"He is hiding something. We'll need a search warrant to find out what." I said once we were a safe distance away.

"Isn't it obvious what it is he's hiding?"

"No. We have just as much evidence claiming he's innocent as we do claiming he's guilty." I stopped by our car. "If Sands provides his camera footage without question, that would confirm he has lost his memory."

"What?" Banker was clearly confused.

"Simple. If he doesn't recall the past year, he has no reason to hide footage from it."

"What if he simply had nothing to hide?"

"Then we still have no reason to suspect him." I went up the driveway, and knocked on the door, Banker standing behind me.

First a quiet clink from inside, and then the door opened, Tristen Sands standing there with a surprised expression.

"Good morning, Mr. Sands. Do you have the time to talk?"

 

Sands led us into the living room once again, a fresh pot of coffee and pitcher of iced tea set on the coffee table, along with a plate of plain wheat cookies.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you." I immediately responded to the offer as I took the same seat I took last night. I accepted the cup of coffee, and glanced at Banker, who appeared to give me a disapproving look.

I decided to ignore it, having a sip of the hot coffee. Though there was both sugar and coffee provided on the table, I preferred it black.

I watched him as he poured a glass of iced tea. "How can I help you today?" He asked.

I set the coffee down on a coaster on the table, watching Sands' expression and posture as he awaited my response. Slightly nervous, but not too much. Like someone with a killer in their neighborhood should be.

"We didn't conduct a thorough investigation yesterday. You had just gotten back from the hospital, and needed rest, after all." I finally spoke. "We still have some questions regarding the night of the murder."

Sands nodded, having a drink from his glass. "Okay, yeah. I'm happy to help you."

I held back a smirk as his expression changed slightly, showing regret about his words. I could imagine the thoughts going through his head now. If I was suspecting him, which I was, saying something like that made it sound like he was glad Bridges had died. But a person who was smart enough to disable the cameras entirely wouldn't say something that stupid. Or, rather, they would, to throw me off. As such, the statement gave me nothing, and he had very little to worry about, whether he was the killer or not.

I glanced at Banker, who squinted at Sands. The artist was much more nervous now.

"So, Mr. Sands. Did you notice anything strange when you returned from the hospital?"

"No, I don't think so. I mean, things definitely seemed a lot different, but..."

"Right. Did you see anyone around that didn't quite fit in?"

"Nobody stood out, no." He took another sip of tea. The single piece of ice clinging against the side of the glass slightly as he was lifting it indicated that his hand was shaking.

"Alright. Where were you the night of the murder from 10 PM to 4 AM, and was anyone with you?" I pulled my notepad and pencil from my pocket, and started to take some simple notes.

"I was asleep. I think. I was tired, and I don't know when I fell asleep. My brother was with me until eight, but I was alone afterwards."

Huh. No alibi. He either didn't need one, or was very confident we lacked evidence. I honestly didn't believe it was him, but I couldn't count him out until we got hard evidence proving his innocence.

"Very well. Now, I will be honest with you, Mr. Sands." I looked up at him from my pad. "You are currently one of the main suspects in this case."

He blinked, his eyes widening. He was visibly shocked, or frightened, or confused, or maybe a mix of the three.

"But there is a simple way to prove your innocence." I continued. "We are currently working on getting a search warrant to look through both your and your neighbor's security footage. But you can help us move along the investigation."

"Y-you want the security footage?" He set the glass down once more.

"Yes. Your security is thorough. If we can determine that you were not away from your house at the time of the murder, your innocence is as good as proven." I took a long sip of my coffee, while Sands appeared to think it over.

"Alright. Yeah, I can get you guys the footage." He stood up, gesturing for us to follow as he headed upstairs. I glanced at Banker, who nodded to me, his hand nonchalantly moving slightly closer to his holster. If he was trying to lead us someplace to take us out, he'd be more than ready.

Sands led us up to a locked door. He took a key out from his pocket and unlocked it, flicking a light switch as he opened it. Inside was a computer, slash, security room. Several monitors, recording devices, etcetera, etcetera. I looked over all the equipment as Sands went over to one of the computers and started working on it.

"Alright, should have a disc for you in a minute or-"

"May I view some of the footage here?" I asked, interrupting him slightly. He blinked.

"Uh, sure? Why?"

"The setup is already perfect for reviewing old footage, and I doubt you were about to give us all the footage from the day the cameras were set up on one disc. And you could also be giving us a fake file." Banker gave me a harsh look, seemingly not appreciating my honesty.

"Oh... Uh, okay. Sure, you can view the recordings here. When would you like to-"

"Would now be okay?" I asked, tossing my coat onto a nearby swivel chair and heading over to take a seat.

Sands was getting more and more confused by the moment. "Uh, alright, I suppose. Is there anything else I-" He was cut short as we heard the doorbell ring below.

"You should go answer that. Banker, could you bring me my coffee?" I stretched my arms out for a moment, before getting to work. Had to find and bring up the recordings from the night of the murder. I heard both Sands and Banker leave, the latter rather begrudgingly. 

 

I rotated the chair around to face Banker as soon as he entered the room and closed the door behind him, telling him my conclusion after watching the tape.

"Sands very well may be the killer."

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

_Tristen Sands_

I opened my front door to see Jack, grinning.

"Hey there, Tris. Got my jingle ready?" He asked as he forced past me and headed straight towards the piano.

"Yes, Jack. I was going to bring them by to you this afternoon like I had promised, why did you decide to come he-"

"You know, I never took you for the kind to go after a man in uniform, Tris." He said, looking past me. I turned to see Officer Banker heading away from the staircase, towards the living room.

I sighed and turned back to Jack, who was currently reading over the sheet for the jingle. "He and another detective are here for the investigation about Michelle."

"Right. Made any progress on that 'investigation'?" He winked. Ugh.

"I wouldn't know. They asked to use see security footage."

His lip twitched slightly, making the grin quiver. "Did you let them?"

I raised a brow, confused by his reaction. "Yes. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you had no reason to! It's in your rights to not let them see that shit without a warrant!" He tossed the sheet aside. "I'm in those tapes too, you know. I don't want some copper watching me."

Well, that was strange. "It's going to prove I'm innocent. Don't see what the big- Jesus fucking Christ, did you...?" I took a step back.

"Did I what? Oh you mean whack Bridges? Fuck no, I wouldn't get that bitch's blood on my hands. Why the hell would I?" He snickered. "Not that I minded her death much, but I wouldn't risk shit for that."

The man constantly reinforced my disgust, but I believed him. He wouldn't jeopardize his career with that. And it was horrible that it was his career that was keeping him from doing such things.

"Then you have nothing to worry about, right?" I forced out.

"...Right." He picked the sheet up again. "This is good stuff, Sands. Gonna have to talk about letting the media know how much I've helped you out later." He stored the paper in his jacket. "Bye for now, Tris. Have fun investigating the big fella in the uniform." He walked right past me, and out the front door. I watched him through the window for the moment, and shuddered. I didn't even want this beach house anymore. Not with pricks like him and murderers around.

_Michael Colley_

I showed the tape to Banker, the exact moment that caused the obvious suspicion. 23:32, Sands walks out through his front door, and heads off towards the beach. No cameras capture his movements beyond about 10 meters from the entrance. At 23:57, he returns.

"Well, that makes it obvious, then." Banker said. "Clearly he's the killer. Had motive, had chance to do it, his DNA was found at the scene. Knew the layout and cameras from when they were together. And now this." Banker set the cup rather roughly on the desk.

"Careful, don't spill it." I said, picked it up, and had a small sip. I watched over these two moments again. No doubt, it was Sands. The hair, the limp, even the clothes all matched.

If he did do it, and it was caught so clearly on the cameras... Why did he allow us to view the footage? Why did he not provide any sort of alibi? Why had he not done a single thing that would aid in proving himself innocent? Did he not care if he went to jail, not even in the slightest?

"Banker, when did the reports say Bridges had died?"

"From about eleven in the evening 'til one in the morning."

"The timing fits well enough, then, yes. He heads out at half past eleven. Disables the cameras. Or, rather, removes them completely. Goes in, kills Bridges, and returns to his home." I leaned back in my chair. "Except I doubt he had enough time to remove the cameras. And he isn't carrying any tools, and definitely not a ladder or anything. If it was him, he had an accomplice. Someone who dealt with the security systems while he did the dirty work. If he did it at all."

Officer Banker opened his mouth for a response, but stopped as the door opened and Sands stepped in with his glass. "Did you, um, find anything?" He asked. I glanced at Banker, but he gave no visible response to it. At this point, I supposed, he simply let me do what I saw fit. I appreciated this.

"Yes, Mr. Sands. And we would like to take the recordings back to the station, if you don't mind." I responded to the author.

He was just a slight bit surprised. "Oh, okay. I should be able to make a copy of-"

"No," I continued the seeming tradition of cutting him off, "I mean, we would like to take the original recordings, not copies."

There was a pause. Then he nodded. "Sure. If this can help you solve the case. Anything else you could use?"

"Your phone records."

"Wh-what?" His mouth remained open slightly. "D-did you find something to make me more of a suspect?" He asked, appearing genuinely surprised.

"Yes. If you do not wish to give us your phone records, we understand."

He gulped. This was the first time his reaction caused any sort of suspicion in me. Was he worried that someone he had called knew he had done it? Was he protecting someone? Or was this just general fear and shock as he realized the police were investigating him so? I gave Banker another look, his face giving away no emotion. Or, rather, it wouldn't give any emotion away to Sands. I could tell he was very much not pleased.

"Alright... But... Don't make the calls public or anything. Please." Sands finally replied.

"Of course." I responded and turned back to the screens, pulling a USB drive from one of my pockets. Said drive could hold about a terabyte of information, and was one of my more expensive personal possessions. "Officer Banker can get the records. In the mean time, I'll get the recordings here."

The two left once more, and as I watched the files slowly transfer to the drive, I pondered who had helped Sands if he were the killer, and more importantly, why had he given me those tapes.

He was so surprised by it, too. He didn't have an alibi, either, and he seemed so convinced the tapes would prove his innocence...

I locked my fingers, placed my chin on them, trying to think. And then it struck me. Rather obvious, really.

Sands was suffering not just from retrograde amnesia, but also a minor case of anterograde amnesia, meaning that he not only didn't recall his past, he also had issues forming new memories. Or, so I hypothesized.

There were many alternatives to my solution. It was possible that Sands was merely pretending to not recall anything, thus allowing him to plea for insanity or the like if things went to court. At the time, it seemed like they would.

I removed the USB stick from the computer, and, after a few more clicks, erased the recordings from the week of the murder. I then stood up, picked up my jacket and headed out the door. Banker was waiting below, Sands sitting in his chair, looking rather distraught.

I walked slowly down the stairs, my hands in my pockets. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Sands. We will be sure to keep you updated if we make progress in the case. Farewell for now." I said, opened the front door and walked right through. I heard a quiet response from behind. Once Banker and I were by our car once again, I explained him my amnesia theory.

"So? What do we do now?" He asked.

"Simple," I answered, "We find the accomplice."

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

_Tristen Sands_

I sat in my chair, simply staring at the coffee table. I hadn't moved in the past ten minutes, not since the police left. What could they have possibly found?

Maybe they saw me speaking with Jack, and, since they suspected him, too, made a connection somehow? He did seem really suspicious about the whole camera footage thing.

Or maybe it was simply that I went straight to the crime scene once I woke up the next day. And yet, Colley didn't seem like a person who would take that as enough to make me a proper suspect. But maybe that was the reason he needed to investigate further.

I rubbed my face and sighed. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. I was innocent. But I had ended up cluelessly dragging Catherin into this.

I took the half bottle of whiskey out from my bar along with a glass. I needed a drink.

I groaned as I sat up and looked around. It was pitch black outside, and the bulb above was the only light I could see on in my entire house. My clothes were in wrinkles, my joints felt sore and my mouth dry. The bottle laid empty beside me, the glass standing on the coffee table, just a drop of whiskey left in it. I downed said dropped and checked the time. 1 AM. I grumbled at my own idiocy and stood up, picking up the cane which had fallen on the floor by the couch. I needed proper sleep, as I was supposed to go see Catherin and her son tomorrow.

I limped towards the door, and carefully flicked the light switch, rendering the entire building dark now. I stumbled my way towards the stairs, up the steps, and to my bedroom. I sat heavily on the side of my bed.

I placed my cane by my bed, and was about to lay back when I felt something lightly creep up my back. A finger.

I yelled in surprise, and fell forward, grabbing my cane along the way. After a bit of fumbling for the light, I managed to turn it on, revealing a young woman staring at me with wide eyes. She had tanned skin, short, dark hair and rings under her eyes.

"What- Who are you!?" I exclaimed. The woman watched me for a moment longer, before seemingly remembering something. I judged so by the slight change of expression and head jerk. She hopped out of the bed, apparently still fully dressed in a pair of jeans and leather jacket. As I raised my cane to try and stop her, she sprinted out the door. I uttered a quiet swear as I stood up as fast as my cane would allow it, and tried to hobble after her, but to no use. She was long gone.

I quickly made my way down stairs, and locked the door. I peeked out through my curtains. Nothing but the quiet night.

I returned to my room, perplexed. What the hell just happened?

I got drunk, that much I understood. But who was that woman, and how did she get here? Puzzled, I thought for a moment. Then decided to investigate.

I stepped out of my room and into the neighboring one, the camera room.

And found it completely trashed.

The processor was dismantled, the records were gone or strewn about, the screens were smashed into pieces. I looked over the processor remains momentarily, and could immediately tell parts were missing.

I tried not to panic. The cameras outside had their separate capture systems. I could use those. I rushed downstairs, tossing my jacket onto my back along the way. I stepped outside and glanced up above my door.

And gasped. There was nothing there.

Well, there was something. There was the socket which would have held the camera, but nothing else, nothing but the wires sticking from it.

I walked all around my house. Every single camera had been removed. What the hell did this mean? Did the woman break in, destroy my security systems and then just decide to lie in my bed? Was... Was she the killer?

Whatever the case, I immediately pulled my phone out and contacted the most recent number added. The phone rung twice.

"Detective Colley? This is Tristen Sands."

_Michael Colley_

I looked back up at the screens in front of me after finishing the call with Sands. A young woman with short dark hair broke into his house. His security systems were rendered useless so easily and without issue.

If this had happened earlier, we would have no evidence against Sands. And yet here he was, actually providing it in heaps. This acted as further proof to my theory that Sands truly just didn't recall killing Bridges.

I picked up my coffee mug and looked over both of my computers. The first one was showing the footage from what I referred to as 'the last day of remembrance' to the day of the murder. I had made it to July of this year by now, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, especially during the night.

So far it all added up. I could have spotted Lee wandering around the area several times during the time leading up to her arrest, spying on both Sands and Bridges. Given the mug shots and video footage I was provided, I could say that the woman here fit the description provided by Sands. This made it likely that Lee was, in fact, the accomplice.

The other screen showed Sands' call logs from the past week. Nothing too much. Few incoming calls from relatives - father, brother, cousins. Two incoming calls from Sleek, three outgoing ones. Outgoing call to one 'Catherin Burrel'.

I noted all of this down. The relative calls caused no suspicion - I chose to ignore those for now. The calls with Sleek, on the other hand, were different. Incoming call the day Sands returned from the hospital, unanswered. Then an unknown number called Sands about twenty minutes before Sands left his home. The call to Sleek was returned that night, before Sands left his house. Another outgoing call next morning, two hours after the police arrived at the crime scene, and short while after Sands had visited the scene himself.

Next call came in from Sleek in the afternoon. The call was very short, only 10 seconds long. And finally, a call had gone out just after we left after our initial interrogation of Sands.

Could all of this mean Sands was working with Sleek, not Lee? Or maybe all three of them were working together? If so, what part did each of them play in this? Were the other two aware that Sands was seemingly setting them up along with himself, providing me evidence?

Sleek did not appear happy in the footage I saw from earlier today. Matter of fact, he seemed upset with Sands. Sands even appeared to seem threatened, taking a step back as he said something.

Was Sleek calling the shots? It was obvious that Sands was the one who would be able to control Lee if he so wished; the poor girl was obsessed with the artist.

The way it appeared to me right now was that both Sands and Sleek had reason to kill Bridges, though I couldn't identify what Sleek's reason was just yet, and Lee was an accomplice either way. Whether Sleek and Sands worked together was a different question.

Another possibility was, of course, that it was Sleek that convinced Lee that getting rid of Bridges would get her closer to Sands. That would explain why she decided to suddenly break into his home and get into his bed. It would also explain why Sands was giving us all this evidence.

Maybe it was some bizarre coincidence? It was unlikely, that much was true. But something made me doubt it was Sands that killed Bridges. He simply did not seem capable of doing so. Either he was innocent, a damn good actor, or he became an entirely different person during the moments he couldn't remember.

I noted down everything I had figured out in my pad, left a copy of all my progress on my computer, as well as copied the files back over to the USB stick. That way I had three copies of everything I needed, two digital and one physical.

I then proceeded to change into my pajamas, got under the covers, and was out like a light.

I woke up the next morning at 8 AM. I had slept a total of 4 hours. It was enough for me, and I had a lot to get to now.

I first called the station to inform them that I would remain home for today to finish reviewing the recordings. I had been put in charge of the investigation, after all. I also requested that Sands' beach house be under constant surveillance by an inconspicuous member of the police force, too. We had to constantly observe him to see if he did, in fact, go through moments of blackout like I suspected. And if Lee returned, we would be able to see it.

I then called Banker, and asked for him to find out all he could about this 'Catherin Burrel' character. She was the other call that stood out, after all.

I then resumed watching the tapes.

The tapes proved to be mostly a waste. During the time Sands spent in his coma, nobody came near the cameras other than some of his relatives seemingly keeping the place clean.

I sighed, got up and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

My flat was rather small. Bedroom, kitchen, bathroom. Bed, nightstand, desk, counter, oven, coffee machine, sink, toilet, shower. That's all I had in there, not counting in my computers, stereo system, TV and consoles. Not even a fridge: everything I needed I bought in small amounts and consumed the same day.

I prepared my usual cup of coffee and checked the time. 12 AM. Banker should have gathered some information on Burrel by now.

I called him, sipping.

"Banker here."

"Hey, Banker. Find anything on Catherin Burrel?"

"Yes. She is a nurse at the hospital Sands went to. Single mother, husband died three years ago. Kid was ten at the time."

"Got it. Any convictions?"

"None."

"Alright. Anything else?"

"Not unless you count that she's an active community member around Malibu, no."

"Alright. Keep looking. Tell the others I'll be heading to the station in about a half an hour."

I entered the station, greeting the few policemen along my way to my office. I tossed my jacket onto my chair and took out the USB. I began to transfer the files onto my work computer as well.

Banker stepped into my office and placed a set of files on my desk.

"Full report on Burrel. Nothing suspicious about her." He grunted out.

"Thank you, Banker. And the fact that she doesn't appear suspicious doesn't change the fact that she was one of the few people to be contacted by Sands after the murder. We will have to speak with her."

The computer gave a message stating the transfer was complete. I safely removed the USB stick and pocketed it once more.

"Has an officer been sent to watch Sands?" I asked as I stood up and headed for some coffee.

"Yes, officer London."

"London. He's a good man." I poured in my cup. "But not the most observant. Have him replaced with someone else for the night. He can watch over for the next couple of hours. Have you requested the warrants yet?"

"Yes, I have. But I feel that Sands might agree to come willingly with how things have been going so far."

"Maybe." I returned to my seat and sipped the warm beverage. "Sleek, on the other hand, won't give us anything."

"True." Banker responded. I instructed him to go inform the chief on our progress, while I myself turned to the tapes yet again.

I would need more coffee.

_Carl London_

I was just sitting in my car, drumming my fingers on the dashboard. I had been assigned to spy on Sands' place and report anything unusual. And for some reason I had expected something more exciting from a supposed murderer who got hot chicks visiting him in the middle of the night.

But no. All he'd done so far is take out the garbage, walk around the beach some, and that's all I could see. No visitors, no going out, nothing. And it stayed like that until 7 PM. A cab pulled up, and Sands hobbled out of his house, supported by his cane. I blinked, and pulled out my phone. I quick dialed Banker.

"Banker, Sands is taking a cab somewhere. Do I follow?" I asked as soon as he picked up.

"Yes. Keep at a safe distance. We'll track you by GPS and send another officer as backup. If nothing happens, he'll be replacing you in watching Sands."

"Roger that." I out the phone down once again. The taxi set off, Sands sitting in the back. I followed keeping a decent distance between the two cars.

The cab drove into central Malibu, and from there, towards the Los Robles Hospital & Medical Center. That was the hospital Sands was in during his coma, wasn't it?

The car stopped in front of the center. A short while later, Sands stepped out, and walked into the building. I drove the car closer and saw that he didn't go past the lobby, appearing to be waiting for something. I decided to drive back a bit to not attract attention. Once not directly in front of the hospital, I got out of my car.

It was a warm evening. No wind. I checked the time. 7:39 PM. Fuck, how long did that mean I had been there? I sighed, and leaned on my car slightly. Glancing back I saw a pair of headlights drawing closer. At a rather intense speed at that. I furrowed my brow, and instinctively stepped back as the vehicle zoomed by, screeching to a halt in front of the hospital. A hooded figure, obscured by the dark, jumped out just as Sands exited from the hospital, a woman walking with him.

The hooded figure pulled out a handgun.

My eyes widened, and I began to run forward, pulling my own gun out.

"STOP! POLICE!" I shouted, grabbing for my badge with my other hand, aiming with the other. Sands and the woman scrambled away as the hooded figure turned to face me. The woman with Sands shrieked.

I pulled the trigger, a loud bang escaping from the gun. Then another, but not from mine.

My legs suddenly felt much too heavy to move. My breathing became more difficult. Another gunshot. My arm jerked back, my gun flying out from my hand. I dropped to my knees, and looked down, eyes still wide.

My shirt was turning red, a deep hole in my chest and arm. I swallowed, and feebly tried to speak, but couldn't. All I could think of was the dark, blurred image of the person that had shot me, followed by another gunshot. Then nothing.

It was over.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

_Tristen Sands_

I looked back after safely getting Catherin back inside the hospital. The attacker was gone, and so was the car. The policeman was lying, collapsed on the ground, his car still where it was, door ajar. Medical personnel were already running out to help the man, but I felt it was already too late.

I sat down heavily on one of the nearby chairs, shivering. What the hell had just happened? Why was someone trying to kill me? More importantly... Why didn't they?

Clearly that was what they came here to do, yet they left after killing the officer. I looked outside again. A cop car had just stopped in front of the hospital, and I could see several more coming this way. I sighed, stood up and walked out the front doors, towards the officers.

_Michael Colley_

I hopped out of my car and to the approaching Sands. Medics were already crowding around London. One look at the poor man gave away that he was already dead. Damn it all.

"Mr. Sands. We have to talk." I said as I stepped next to him. He turned to me, a terrified expression on his face, and nodded, not resisting in the slightest as Banker and I moved him along to our car.

"Were you able to see the license plate, shooter or anything else that stood out?" I asked as soon as we were out of earshot from the medical personnel. The other policemen were beginning to gather evidence.

Sands grasped his forehead for a moment. "I-I don't know. I think I can recall some of the license number, yeah. Didn't see the attacker's face, and the hoodie they wore covered up their figure." He shook his head slightly. "Dear God that man died because of me..."

"Because of you?" Banker asked, his already rough tone sounding even harsher. He was angry, and it showed.

"Y-yes. The attacker aimed at Catherin and me first and only shot the officer when he called out."

Catherin? He had come here to meet with her, then. That much made sense.

"I see. We will be sure to review the footage from the hospital cameras to see if we can identify the attacker. For now, please tell Officer Banker exactly what happened." I said and headed towards the body. Banker might have been angry, but he could still handle a simple interrogation.

I crouched down next to London, looking over the scene. Three gunshot wounds. Two in the chest and one in the right arm. The first chest wound had gone through a lung, the other shot to the chest had ruptured  an artery and the third bullet had severed several nerves in his arm. My guess was that the first shot hit the lung, the second hit the arm, effectively unarming the officer, and the final shot was the kill shot.

The fact his gun laid several meters away confirmed he was still alive to get shot in the arm, though that wasn't hard to deduce. I sighed, stood back up, and went to investigate the car he had left in such a hurry.

A bottle of water in the passenger seat, his phone left on the dashboard. Two unanswered calls, both from the station.

London was a young officer, who could've had a bright future ahead of him. Several successful arrests and closed cases. Great results on standardized tests. Sure, he was a bit of a scatterbrain at times, and I couldn't imagine him as a good detective any time soon, but he was loyal. And he had given his life today, just like that.

I quietly returned to the scene and got back in the car. Medical staff was on standby, preparing to take London away. Banker was still interrogating Sands.

Someone wanted Sands dead. The killer? His accomplice? Sleek?

Some things added up, others didn't. And it was my job to make sense of it.

_Tristen Sands_

I had returned to the hospital lobby, trying to clear my head away from the crime scene. Banker had given me a thorough interrogation. At this point, I didn't know whether this whole thing made them less or more suspicious of me.

But someone wanted me dead, and would have taken Catherin's life along with mine. I couldn't see her again like that.

Detective Colley walked in and took a seat next to me. He clasped his arms, looking at the wall ahead, and not directly at me.

"Officer London was assigned to keep an eye on you in case you did anything suspicious." He said.

I looked at him, surprised. Why was he telling me this? If he suspected me, he shouldn't be letting me know all of these things about the investigation, right?

"Whether you're the killer or not, someone was about to take your life today." He continued. "So, instead of having someone spy on you, I suggest someone follows you with your permission. To keep you safe."

"Does that mean you don't suspect me anymore?"

"I suspect you more than I did before, Mr. Sands. But if you get killed, I'll consider that it a failure for me, no matter if you did or didn't kill Ms. Banker."

I paused, and then gave a slight nod. Of course, he couldn't count out that this could all have been planned by me, as strange as it was. So many things didn't add up right in my head, and in the end, I wanted answers as much as the young detective.

"Well, if there's nothing else you would like to tell me, I shall be going now." Colley stood up.

I thought for a moment. "Do you have any idea who the woman that broke into my home was?" I asked.

"We do. But I can't reveal that information. Have a good night, sir." He turned away and walked out of the building once more, leaving me alone. I sighed, and went to check on Catherin.

The poor nurse was sitting on a chair in one of the halls, looking... I was expecting her to be terrified, but she looked rather calm.

"Why was someone trying to kill you?" She asked in a worried tone as soon as I rounded the corner.

"I... I don't know. It may have to do with..." I paused. "Have you heard about the murder?"

"Yes. Tristen, what's going on?"

I blinked. She had just called me by my actual name. "I don't know. The police are suspecting me, someone wants me dead, and someone... Someone had broken into my house last night."

She gasped. "Well that simply won't do. Would you be safe at your house?"

"I'm not sure. Detective Colley said that there would be someone keeping an eye out for me at all times now, but I don't know how safe I am. My security cameras have been taken down."

She smiled slightly. "You can stay at my place for the night if you wish. You were still going to see my son, right?"

I was slightly taken aback by this, but nodded. "Of course, yeah. But, er, are you sure you'd want me around?"

"What do you mean?" She tilted her head.

"Well, someone is trying to kill me, after all."

"Oh, don't worry about that! Like you said, there will be someone there for protection. And it would be safer for you to not be alone, right?" She smiled brightly and held out her hand.

I hesitated, but took the hand. I sincerely hoped she was right.

_Michael Colley_

I returned to the station, and headed directly to the chief's office. I took a seat in front of his desk, and he looked up from his work.

"London was killed, wasn't he?" He asked.

"Yes. It was a mistake to send an officer out alone. And a man paid with his life for my mistake." I responded.

"What would you like for me to do?"

"I would like for you to put Banker in charge of the investigation, and not me."

He blinked, surprised. "What? It was a single mistake, Colley-"

"A single mistake which sent a good man to his death. Banker is more than capable of continuing with the case. I am willing to continue working on the case, of course, but it is obvious that I shouldn't be the one calling the shots."

The chief watched me for a moment, and then sighed. "If you say so, Colley. I will make sure Banker is assigned as investigation leader if you so wish."

"Thank you, sir." I stood up and walked out, back to my office.

Banker would still take advice from me, and I would still be the one making the decisions, but from the sidelines. But not being in charge and having to make the shots would allow me to spend time without having to be constantly in touch with the station.

I picked up my jacket and my keys, and walked outside. I got in my car, started the engine, and drove to where my GPS took me. A house not too far from the hospital.

The house of Catherin Burrel.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

_Tristen Sands_

Catherin's home was rather... Well, homely. Lots of potted plants, photos adorning the walls, nice, simple, yet comfortable rugs on the floors.

I glanced around, and noticed a skateboard set against the wall in the corner next to the umbrella stand.

"Is that your son's?" I asked, pointing it out.

"Yeah. He goes to the skate park every afternoon with his friends." She took off her jacket and set it on the coat rack.

"Jimmy?" She called out.

"What?" A voice called down from upstairs a few moments later.

"We have a visitor, and I thought you would like to meet him!"

After about half a minute, a young boy looked down from the top of the stairs. Dressed in a wrinkled T-Shirt, a pair of shorts, no socks on his feet and a cheap rubber watch on his hand, he appeared to be about 12 or 13 years old, his hair slightly messy and his chin showing first signs of stubble. He looked over to me and blinked.

"Who's this guy?" He asked.

"It's Mr. Sandy! You remember him, don't you? You used to listen to his songs all the time as a kid."

"Ugh, mom, I'm not a little kid anymore." He crossed his arms and looked me over momentarily. "'Sup?"

I glanced at Catherin, who was still smiling brightly.

"Uh. Hey. My name's Tristen." I gave short wave.

"James. If you need me, I'll be in my room." He turned around and walked off.

Catherin's smile began to fade slightly. "I'm sorry about that. I had thought he would be more excited to meet you, especially knowing how big of a fan he used to be... Oh, well. Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?"

"It's alright. And sure, tea would be nice." I gave a reassuring smile to her. Kids grew out of things, after all. It was natural.

She led me to a neatly decorated living room. A couch, coffee table, TV and bookcase were the only real pieces of furniture. The bookcase had a couple of awards displayed on it, as well as several photos.

"I'll be back in a jiffy! Make yourself at home!" She said as she headed to the kitchen.

I took a seat on the couch, twiddling my thumbs. After about a minute, I decided to take a look out the window.

I peeked through the curtains, and saw a car parked next to mine. The same car that Detective Banker and Officer Colley visited me in previously. Was it the detective himself that was following me?

I returned to my seat, rather nervous. What if the killer tried to strike again today? Would the detective be able to stop them?

My thoughts were disturbed as Catherin returned to the room, carrying two cups. She handed one to me.

"Green tea. I didn't have any other, I hope you don't mind."

"No, no, it's quite alright. Green tea's good. Helps a lot with health and such." I took a sip. It was decent.

"Right." Catherin nodded. "So, other than... The messy things, how have you been since you left the hospital? Leg giving you much trouble?"

"It got better, actually. I can walk without the cane, as you can see." I took another sip. "My father will be stopping by next week, hopefully. Have a lot of catching up to do with him."

"Oh, how lovely! What does your father do?" Catherin sipped her own tea, pinkie raised and everything.

"Well, apparently he's in the insurance business now. He used to not have a job at all, and was a local mechanic before that."

"Oh. And what about your brother, Duncan?"

We chatted like this for a while. She seemed rather interested in finding out more about my family. A bit peculiar, but I didn't mind.

_Michael Colley_

It had gone completely quiet after the two of them went inside the building. It had been an entire hour, and Richmond, the officer I took along with me to keep lookout, had fallen asleep.

I had a half paper cup of Starbucks coffee and a couple of donuts to help get through the night. I munched on a chocolate glazed, sprinkled donut and sipped the lukewarm beverage. Still had several hours to get through. I sighed and discarded the cup once it was empty. An hour and a half had passed.

I opened the door and stepped out in the cool evening air and took a deep breath, releasing it to see a small cloud form in front of my mouth. I had to stretch my legs after being stuffed in that car for so long.

It did cross my mind that I shouldn't step out like this, really. I could be seen after all. But I wasn't worried. Sands already knew I was following him, and I doubted that the hooded figure would attempt to kill him again, knowing that there will be police keeping an eye on him.

I rested my arms on the roof of the car, and placed my chin on them, watching the windows. I stood like this for about ten minutes.

Unexpectedly, the door opened. Burrel stepped out smiling. She waved at me.

"Would you like to step inside, detective? You could catch a cold out here."

I blinked. Then poked my head back in the car. I tapped on Richmond's shoulder. The officer slowly opened his eyes.

"Burrel is inviting us inside. I do not see a reason for us to not go, as we can also keep a closer eye on Sands." I said.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes out. "Uh, no thank you, sir. I'd prefer not to."

I paused. "Will you be able to stay awake if I left you alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

I watched him for a moment as he took a thermos out of his bag.

"Very well. Stay sharp."

I shut the door and went over to Burrel, who stepped into her home, gesturing for me to follow.

I did, and glanced around at the pleasant decoration. To the left I could see the living room, with Sands sitting on a couch, sipping from a cup. On the right was a dining room.

"Make yourself at home, detective. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Coffee, please. Black." I responded, heading towards the living room.

"Good evening again, Mr. Sands." I said, deciding to take a look at Burrel's selection of books, along with the displayed photos and awards. Lots of romance novels, a few detectives. Not too much intellectual material, it seemed. The photos were of her, a young boy, presumably her son and a single photo of a man in a military uniform. Dead husband, most likely. The awards were mostly for varying accomplishments in the local community- bake sales, charity drives, things such as that.

Sands looked over at me while Burrel went into the kitchen, located to the right.

"Have you noticed anything, uh, weird while observing me, detective?" He asked.

"No, why?" I responded, picking up the photo of the man, checking the back. Nothing written there. At least that cliche wasn't present.

"No reason. I just... I'm just worried is all."

"Right." I set the photo back. Burrel came back into the room and handed me my coffee. I took it and thanked her, having a sip. Definitely better than the Starbucks brew.

Burrel sat down to the right of Sands. "Now, just because of what's been happening, we don't have to just concentrate on all of the negativity." She said. "What do you like to do in your free time, Mr...?"

"Colley. You can call me Michael, I don't mind. And I do varying things. I like to tinker with technology, occasionally create some things. I enjoy writing at times. Of course, I don't always feel like doing all of that. Counter Strike, Call of Duty, Minecraft." I sipped again.

Burrel tilted her head, and Sands raised a brow.

"I've heard my son mention those sometimes. Aren't those videogames?" She asked.

"Yes, they are. People tend to associate gaming to the wrong things. Gaming improves various skills and reflexes. You need to know how much you should and shouldn't envelop yourself in the game, of course." I sipped again.

"You should meet my son, then, detective. He is, the way he describes it, an 'avid gamer'." She returned to smiling, while Sands still seemed rather perturbed. She patted on the couch. "You don't have to stand, Michael. Feel free to take a seat."

"Thank you." I said and sat down between the two. Sands glanced at me, both his eyebrows fully raised now. He didn't appear all that comfortable for some reason. Strange.

I extended my hand to set the cup down on the table, but noticed a lack of coasters.

"What's wrong, detective?" The young nurse asked.

"There are no coasters. I don't want to leave a mark on your table."

"Oh, don't worry, I don't use coasters myself."

Now it was my turn to give her a weird look. Still, I complied and placed the cup down on the surface of the table. I looked around the room.

A minute passed in silence.

Burrel finally broke it. "I'm feeling a bit tired. Sandy, the guest bedroom is the second door on the right upstairs." She looked at me. "I'm afraid I don't know if I could find a place for you, Michael."

"That's fine. I shouldn't sleep anyway. I have to keep an eye out." I stood up and walked over to the TV. There was an Xbox 360 attached to it. I assumed that an Xbox One was in the child's room upstairs, and the old one here was set up for... Whatever reason. "Would you mind if I used the TV?" I asked Burrel, as she was stretching. Sands stood up as well.

"No, not at all. Nothing too loud, though. Jimmy has school tomorrow, and you shouldn't wake him up."

"Right." I looked around for a bit, and sure enough, found a headset for the console. "Good night, Ms. Burrel, Mr. Sands."

The two went upstairs. Once they were gone, I took out my phone to call Banker.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

_Tristen Sands_

I walked out of the guest room, stretching. I had slept until noon, having stayed up so late the night before. I went downstairs, and saw that Detective Colley was still sat on the couch. The TV screen showed some kind of selection screen, or something.

"Good morning, Mr. Sands. Did you sleep well?" He asked, not even turning to me.

"Uh, yeah. Overslept a bit, though." I responded.

"Right. Say, why did you come downstairs in the middle of the night like that?" he asked.

I didn't know how to respond. I hadn't come down, had I? No, I definitely hadn't, unless I was sleep walking. "I... Don't remember walking down? Did I?"

_Michael Colley_

He didn't remember walking downstairs. That's because he hadn't. I used this as a simple test to determine whether or not he was aware of his own memory loss, whether he was aware that he might act differently during these moments.

"Never mind, Mr. Sands. Ms. Burrel asked me to tell you that she was called in for work today. If you need a ride home, Officer Richmond and I can take you."

"No thanks. I could use the walk. Helps clear my head and all."

I turned off the Xbox and turned to him. "We'll have to follow you anyway. I hope you understand that."

He nodded. "Of course." He checked his watch. "I think I might go now, actually. My brother might be stopping by my place soon."

"Very well." I stood up and headed towards the door. "We'll be following about ten meters behind you."

"Er, how long is-"

"Thirty two point eight feet. I prefer to use metric. It's simpler, more efficient and more accurate." I opened the door and stepped outside.

"Shouldn't we lock the door or something?" Sands asked.

"Burrel has spoken to her neighbor. She'll keep an eye out for anyone unusual. Her son should come home in a couple of hours, he will lock it then." I headed towards the car. Richmond was stood next to it, smoking. I didn't approve of the habit, but I didn't judge. Certain factors affected anyone, and it wasn't uncommon that said factors resulted in bad habits.

I got in the car, holding my breath slightly as I passed the officer. He tossed the cigarette down, stepped on it to put it out and got in the passenger seat.

"He's not going to be getting in the car?"

"No. He prefers to walk. Have you seen anything suspicious yet?"

"Nothing so far. Still, don't like him walking about like that."

"Me neither, but we cannot force him to get in the car. He's cooperated so far. No need to ruin that. Just keep a couple dozen feet away from him." I said, knowing that Richmond didn't know metric either, and giving an exact amount of feet would be ridiculous.

Sands began to walk down the road, towards the beach. Richmond started up the engine and began to slowly follow him. Being early afternoon on a weekday, the roads were almost completely empty.

_Tristen Sands_

Duncan was already standing around outside my house, whistling, hands in his pockets. He looked to me and grinned.

"Hey there, bro. Where've you been?" He asked, raising his hand for a high-five.

I didn't leave him hanging. "Oh, uh, didn't spend the night at home."

"...Dude. Nice."

"No, that's not- Have you seen the news?"

"Uh, no. Didn't have the time last night. Why?" He looked over my shoulder and squinted. "...Is someone following you?"

"Come on, I'll explain inside." I unlocked the door and walked in, Duncan following behind.

Once we took seats in the living room, I sighed and started to explain things.

"The night I got back from the hospital, a murder happened. Michelle Bridges, my neighbor, and, apparently, ex girlfriend, was killed. Detective Colley, the man following me now in the car, is in charge of the investigation. He suspects... I might be the killer."

Duncan was taken aback at this. "Well that's just bullshit! You wouldn't kill anyone, especially Michelle!"

"Right, right, but he has his reasons to suspect me. Right now I am helping him as much as I can to prove him I am innocent. Anyway, after I gave my security tape footage to the detective to help with the investigation, a woman broke into my house. My cameras and surveillance equipment were all destroyed or removed."

Duncan nodded along, not commenting this time.

"Last night, I went to see Catherin at the hospital. I was going to meet her son at her place, when a car drove up to the hospital. Someone in a hoodie pointed a gun at me. A police officer saved my life, but... Was shot, and died."

"Jesus Christ..."

I nodded. "Catherin offered for me to spend the night at her place, since my home might not be safe. Detective Colley also came along. Before you ask, I spent the night in the guest room."

"...And the detective?"

"Didn't sleep, as far as I could tell." I shook my head slightly. "This whole thing is just a mess. I hope it gets resolved soon."

"Right... Oh, hey, dad's arriving in LA tomorrow!" Duncan said, trying to change the subject. I managed to force out a smile.

"Yeah. Going to need to catch up with him on a lot of things."

"That you will bro. I also asked mom if she wanted to come by, but she 'politely declined'." He said, making air quotes with his fingers.

"Yeah. I don't blame her, I guess." I sighed. "And how have you been?"

"Oh, me? I've been great. Might've met someone last night, kind of like you, eh?" He grinned. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my seat.

"Well, good luck to you, I guess." I said, picking up the iced tea and a glass from the coffee table. "Have any upcoming gigs?"

"Oh, no. Been quiet that way recently." He stood up and went over to the bar. "Something will probably come up soon, though." He took out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass.

"Right." I nodded and took a sip of tea. "So, what's the woman you met like?"

"The woman? Oh, uh. She's pretty. 20-something, dark hair, tan skin, long legs. You know the type I like." He retook his seat, pouring his whiskey in.

"Uh huh." I squinted at him. I didn't believe him one bit, but I decided against calling him out. I had enough to worry about as it was.

Instead, I moved discussion over to more casual topics, trying to forget the horrible things that had just happened, at least to an extent.

_Unknown_

Oh, how close had I had been to him last night. I could've smelled him. Had he recognized me, I wondered? Who knows? But either way, things had gone just as planned. Even the officer had been there!

This had been the first time I killed someone. It felt so invigorating! I could used to it, I really could.

For now I just sat there on my bed, looking over my collection of photos on my wall. Photos of him. I eagerly awaited the next call to get my next directions. Directions that would bring me closer to him.

First I had to get rid of the bitch that was with him that night, though.

 

 

_Michael Colley_

I got into Banker's car, placing the search warrant in my jacket. "Is Sleek at home?" I asked.

"He is." Banker grunted back as he started the car. "Or, at the very least he's supposed to be."

I nodded, and we drove from the station towards Sleek's house. We passed by the car posted outside Sands' home on our way there, the officers inside watching us drive by. Banker stopped the car in front of Sleek's place, and I stepped out, heading towards the door.

I rang the doorbell. Moments later, the intercom came on. "What?" Sleek asked in an irritated tone.

I looked up into the camera above the door. "We'd like to be let in, Mr. Sleek. We have that warrant you wanted."

There was a pause. "Hold on a minute."

"We won't, Sleek. Open the door now." Banker grunted out behind me. I'd have worded it more eloquently than that, but he got the point across rather well for me.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a bunch." The door clicked, and I immediately stepped in. It was a narcissistically decorated home. Photos of Sleek himself covered the walls. There were no plants around. Awards and photos displayed in a case right to the left of the entrance. It showed rather well what kind of person he was.

He appeared at the top of the staircase, dressed in a bathrobe, yawning. "Make it quick, will ya?"

"Of course. Banker, keep an eye on Mr. Sleek for me, please."

I turned to begin searching the house, when Sleek called out. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you mean 'keep an eye on me'? You kind of interrupted me in the middle of something, and I'd appreciate some privacy."

I glanced at Banker. He looked back. "You can finish whatever you were doing later. Our investigation is more important."

"No, no, no, no. I don't think you understand. I need to _finish_ , detective."

"...Keep an eye on him, Banker." I said, deciding against gratifying Sleek with a response.

Sleek looked at me, then at Banker. Then went upstairs. Banker gave me one last look before following him. I then began to methodically search around each room for any clues.

My search didn't bring many results on the first floor. Nothing that I could specifically connect to the night of the murder, at least. I sighed and went up to check on Banker and Sleek.

Officer Banker was standing in front of a door, a rather unamused expression on his face. Behind said door, I could hear female moaning.

"How long has this been going for?" I asked, standing next to him, facing the door.

"He went in and locked the door as soon as he got up here. Some muffled voices. Then... That."

"Mhm." I crouched down, removing a pin and switchblade from my jacket.

"What the hell are you doing?" Banker asked.

"Calling Sleek's bluff." I fiddled with a lock for a minute, before hearing a click. I then opened the door and barged in.

Sleek was currently digging through the contents of a desk at the side of the room, the computer on it indicating that files were being deleted. A record player on the nightstand was currently emitting moaning sounds. Banker growled, and rushed Sleek, shoving him onto the ground. I calmly cancelled the file deletion. As I had suspected, said files were the video footage from his surveillance cameras.

"Banker, be so kind and bring Mr. Sleek to the car. I'll collect the data and be there in a moment."

"OUTRAGE! THIS IS AN VIOLATION OF MY HUMAN RIGHTS!" Sleek shouted as Banker dragged him off, mirandizing him along the way.

"No it isn't! Fully constitutional at that!" I called back to him, before taking out my USB drive and starting to get those files.

 

Sleek awaited me several hours later in the interrogation room. I walked in, tossing a folder onto the table. "So. Cocaine, huh?" I asked.

He looked up at me. "I demand to see my lawyer."

I nodded and looked to the mirrored wall to the left, giving the signal for Banker to call his lawyer in.

Though the tapes didn't show anything that would make me suspect that Sleek was the killer, and most definitely did not show him leaving on the night of the murder, they did show something. And that something was a dealer stopping by his place every Friday night to give him a dose of coke.

"If you do not wish to speak without your lawyer, I will speak to you later." I picked up the file and walked back out of the interrogation room. Though he wasn't the killer, he was still called multiple times by Sands. I could use this cocaine thing to get him talking.

Banker was waiting for me outside, arms crossed.

"How'd you know he was bluffing?" He asked.

"Hm?"

"Back at his house."

"Oh, it was quite simple. According to all reports from the officers last night, Sleek hadn't left the house. He hasn't been reported by the media as having any partners right now. Call girls work either by the hour or by the night. It was unlikely he would pay to keep one there until 10 AM like that."

"...Right. Well, uh, good job, I suppose."

I nodded and passed by him.

I returned an hour later. Sleek was speaking with his lawyer, who seemed rather distressed, and rightfully so. Not only was Sleek associated with a murder case now, he had also been purchasing drugs, and was caught in the act of trying to get rid of the evidence. Things were looking poorly for him.

Finally, the lawyer announced we can interrogate him now.

I stepped into the interrogation room and placed the file on the table yet again.

"So, Mr. Sleek. I suppose this is why you didn't want us seeing your surveillance footage?"

Sleek gulped and glanced at the lawyer. "Yeah."

"Alright. You know, interfering with investigation like that, and buying cocaine, that could earn you some jail time. Combine that with your previous convictions, and, well, you're in quite some trouble."

I flipped open the file, revealing shots from the camera footage, depicting Sleek purchasing a plastic bag of white powder from a shady looking individual in a hoodie.

"But, we do have a deal for you. Feel free to not accept it if you don't like it."

I took the seat on the opposite side of the table, and watched the two men for a moment. "I would like for you, in return for us not convicting you, to tell us exactly what you and Mr. Sands have spoken about since his return from the hospital, including phone conversations."

Sleek looked confused for a moment. His lawyer was preparing to speak, when Jack began to laugh.

"Oh, please. You don't mean to tell me you think Tris killed someone? The guy doesn't have the balls to hurt a fuckin' fly."

The lawyer was clearly disgruntled by Sleek's words. Not without reason, but I was, at this point, quite sure Sleek was not the killer.

"Mr. Sleek, I am going to have to ask you to take this seriously. Yes, we believe that Mr. Sands may be the killer. And we'll have more concrete evidence on the matter if you agree to cooperate."

"Sure. Still, really fucking doubt you got the right guy."

"You are free to have your doubts. Now, what have you spoken to him about?"

"Mostly work stuff. I made a deal with him. If he makes a couple public appearances with me and writes some jingles, I recommend him to my manager and he starts earning money again."

"Alright. Anything else? Anything that stood out?"

"Actually, yeah. He called me one night and asked me to take a look outside. Saw him leaving his house." He put a finger to his chin. "I did. Matter of fact, this was the night Bridges got killed. Hell, you might be convincing me here that Tris went nuts and killed someone."

I nodded. So, Sands had definitely left his house that night. But we already knew that from the surveillance footage. Why did he want Sleek to witness it, though? Would it not make more sense for him to make sure as few people as possible saw him? It was like things kept perfectly adding up for me to convict him, yet at the same time, they did so in a way which didn't make sense.

I informed Sleek that we will remain in contact with him, dealt with formalities, and returned to my office.

Banker already awaited me there.

"So, we arrest Sands now?"

"No." I responded. "Not yet. Things just... Don't add up right."

"Really? Seems to me like they add up perfectly. He is the killer; there is no doubt about it."

"And what about the person that tried to kill him, the one who killed London?" I took a seat in my chair.

"Who knows? Could've been someone angry about Bridge's death, or just pissed at Sands in general. London's death needs a separate investigation. We already know who killed Bridges."

I watched Officer Banker for a moment. "If you wish to arrest him, Devon, I won't stop you. You're the one in charge of the investigation now, after all." I turned to face my computer screen, clicking the mouse to make the screen flicker back to life. "But I won't consider the case closed personally yet."

Banker stood behind my back, arms crossed.

"Fine. I'll be making the arrest tomorrow. I've already requested and received the warrant. If you can find a reason for me not to go through with this, feel free to inform me about it until then." He turned and walked away.

He had requested and acquired a warrant without me knowing. Fair enough. He had the rights to do so. Though I decided that from this point on, I too should keep a certain investigation of my own going, without Banker's orders.

I resumed work, and began to try and find something to keep Banker from making that arrest just yet.

I didn't quite succeed at the time.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

_Tristen Sands_

It was 11 AM and I was having my breakfast as usual: Toast, side of bacon and orange juice. I had slept a bit sporadically that night, and didn't feel that well rested. That's why I woke up so relatively late, too.

I was about to pick up my paper and start reading, when I heard a knock on the door.

"Open up, Sands. It's the police."

"...In a moment." I stood up, briefly checked to make sure I'm presentable, and opened the front door. Several officers, including Banker in the front, were awaiting me there.

"What's this...?"

"Tristen Sands, you are under arrest for the murder of Michelle Bridges." He said, my expression changing from confusion to utter shock. "You have the right to remain silent." He continued as he stepped behind me and placed cuffs on me. "Anything you say may be used against you in court. You have the rights to an attorney being present during and after the questioning. If you can't afford one, you have the right for the state to assign you one."

I didn't speak one word, as he shoved me out the door and towards the car parked outside. "Do you understand each of the rights I've explained to you?" He asked.

"Y-Yes." I responded hesitantly.

"Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?"

I gulped. "Y-Yes. I didn't do it, officer; I've been trying to prove it to you. The surveillance footage, it..."

"Showed you leaving your house at the time of the murder and returning after it." Another officer opened the door, and Banker was about to put me into the seat.

"No, no, NO!" I exclaimed, struggling, tears starting to swell in my eyes. "I didn't kill anyone! I wouldn't kill anyone! Please, for the love of God, believe me!"

"I'm sorry, Sands. Evidence is evidence." He said, shoving me into the car. As the officer in the driver seat started the car, we began to hear the sound of police sirens. Further down the road, I noticed a police car speeding this way. Banker placed a hand on the roof of the car I was in to stop the officer from driving just yet.

The police car stopped a few feet after us, and Detective Colley jumped out immediately.

"We have another murder." He said once he had run up to us.

"What? Where?" Banker asked.

"Just next door. Jack Sleek has been killed."

_Michael Colley_

The forensics team was already hard at work at the crime scene, collecting as much evidence as possible. Sleek was laying in the middle of the room, several stab wounds to the neck, making it so the head could essentially fall off any minute.

As I walked in, one of the team members walked up to me. A young, short brunette.

"Detective Colley, Officer Banker, you should see this." She said, gesturing for us to follow as she headed upstairs. I glanced at Banker, who was still upset at me insisting that Sands is not yet taken to the station, and then followed the woman.

Upstairs, she led to the bedroom which we had seen yesterday. Inside was a somewhat disturbing scene.

Someone had taken the time to place photo after photo of Sands all over the place in varying patterns across the floor and walls. There were lines of blood and splatters connecting those photos. I looked around for a minute or so. There were photos of him from varying shows, photos from what appeared to be parties, get-togethers, and even a couple of weddings and funerals. But one photo stood out. A seemingly black and white, framed photo, almost entirely covered in blood.

I walked up to it, while Banker looked around.

"Jesus Christ. What sick fuck did this?"

"Sands' stalker, obviously." I responded. "Could you give me your gloves?" I asked the woman. She hesitated, but handed me the pair. I put them on and took the picture off of the wall.

"What are you doing now, Colley?" Banker grunted out. "We don't have time for this. We need to bring Sands back to the station."

"Were the cameras and surveillance footage destroyed like before?" I asked as I flipped the photo and took out my switchblade. I began to cut around the edges carefully.

"No, actually." The woman answered. "We have already collected the video footage."

"Did the murderer not have time to do it this time?" Banker asked.

"No. If they didn't have the time, they couldn't have set this all up. It's possible that doing all this is what made them not have that time, but it's unlikely they would prioritize sending some sick message over not getting found out. That is, unless they wanted to get found out."

"And why would they?"

"To cover something up, possibly. Or to attract attention. You should know that attention is exactly what so many murderers strive for." I popped off the frame, a note landing along with the picture.

Both Banker and the female forensics expert blinked in surprise and stepped closer. I picked the note up.

It was a folded page of A4 paper. I unfolded it, revealing hastily written lines of text, with blood and a lip print left with deep red lipstick.

"This lipstick marking means that there's saliva on this page. She wanted to be found out; there is no doubt about it." I read the note out aloud.

"Nothing will stand between you and me again, Tristen. You will see why you should be mine. I'll make sure SHE doesn't get in the way later today, too." I looked up at the two.

"She? As in, what? Bridges?" Banker grunted.

"No. She intends to get rid of her today." I folded the paper back and placed it in a plastic bag provided by the forensics expert. "She means Burrel."

 

Sands fumbled with his phone for a short bit as he frantically pressed on 'Catherin' in his contacts. Officers Banker and Richmond were sitting in the back of the car, Sands in the passenger seat next to me. I started the engine, glancing at the writer before beginning to make the drive towards Burrel's home.

"Catherin?" Sands finally said. "This is Tristen. A-are you okay?"

Pause.

"Yeah, listen. You... You have to, uh, make sure your doors are locked, and, uh..."

"Sands, just put the phone to my ear." I said. Richmond scoffed, clearly not approving of me driving and speaking on the phone at the same time. Banker knew it was a non-issue, and Sands was in no shape to argue.

"Ms. Burrel, are you and your son currently home?" I asked once Sands had pressed the phone to my ear.

"Michael? Yes, why? What's going on?"

"I do not want you to panic, but it is likely that you are both in deadly danger right now. Someone wants you dead."

"Oh my God..."

"Make sure your doors are locked, and don't let anyone other than us inside. We will arrive shortly."

"Okay. I'll be waiting." She ended the call.

"You may put down the phone, Sands." I said. He did so, pocketing it awkwardly.

A couple of minutes later we stopped in front of Burrel's house.

The four of us got out of the car, Sands going first. He ran up to the door and rang the doorbell. A few moments passed, followed by the sound of the door getting unlocked. The door opened, Burrel standing behind it, looking rather distraught.

"Ms. Burrel, I suggest you and your son head to the police car with Officer Banker. Officer Richmond, Mr. Sands and I will make sure your home is clear." I said. Sands nodded along until his name was mentioned. He looked at me.

"Why do you want me to go?" He asked.

"Do you wish not to? I cannot force you to."

He looked between Burrel and me for a moment, before nodding. Ms. Burrel stepped out, her juvenile son following in suit.

I stepped into the house after Banker. The reason I wanted for him to be here, is that if he truly was the killer, he would know what Lee was planning to do here. As such, him agreeing to come could mean three things. First, it could mean that he wasn't the killer or simply didn't recall being one. It could also mean that he knew exactly what awaited us, and could react to it in a way which kept him alive. Or, it was possible he was just a good actor, just like before.

"It's possible that Lee has hidden something in here to aid in killing Burrel." I said, starting to search the living room, checking under the couch cushions.

"Like a bug?" Sands asked, checking the bookshelves.

"I was thinking more along the lines of an explosive. But a bug is also a possibility." I moved onto the couches, while Sands hesitated for a moment, probably rethinking his decision to search the house. Richmond stepped into the building as well.

"Officer Richmond, check the rooms upstairs while we finish here." I ordered him.

"Uh, Officer Banker told me to bring Sands back to the car. He changed his mind."

Sands stopped, and looked between me and the officer.

"Tell Banker I have my reasoning to keep him inside. Once you do, get back in here and make sure the rest of the house is secure. We are talking about human lives here." I resumed searching, as did Sands. We moved from the living room over to the dining room, Richmond passing by and heading upstairs. Both the dining and living room were clear.

We then stepped into the kitchen. There were so many unnecessary pieces of technology here. Mixers, blenders, slicers, toasters, bread makers. Never understood why someone would need so many things to make food.

It didn't make our task any easier, either. We had to check in and around every one of the devices. I was about to look into the fridge, when Sands called out from the other side of the room.

"Do you hear that?"

I stopped, and held my breath.

A beep. Then another.

"...Oh boy." I turned my head to face the dining room. "Richmond, we need a bomb squad." I called out, and turned to Sands, who looked absolutely terrified.

"We need to locate where the sound is coming from." I said, holding my hand out to him in a 'don't move' fashion. I listened for a moment. The sound was coming from the table, it seemed.

"Why would they put a beeper on it like that?" Sands asked.

"Because, chances are its set to explode once moved. So, hearing the sound, Ms. Burrel would try to find where it's coming from, having no clue it's an explosive." I crouched down next to the table, the tablecloth obscuring the view of the under frame.

"You can leave now, Mr. Sands. Matter of fact, I would advise you to."

"What are you planning to do?"

"Nothing. Not until the bomb squad gets here."

"Then why aren't you leaving too!?"

"Because I choose not to. You can leave."

He watched me for a moment, before turning and rushing out the door. As he did, I heard a click, and the beeping speeded up. My eyes widened, and I practically leapt towards the dining room entryway, knocking Sands to the ground in the process. I saw the flash from the explosion behind us before I heard it, and ear-shattering boom. Dust, debris and table bits flew up into the air, raining over us.

After a few seconds of holding completely still, I opened my eyes, my glasses knocked off my face, and looked around. My ears were ringing and my legs felt like they were burning, several nasty scratches on them from the debris. Sands was a few steps ahead, on his knees, clutching his head. A trickle of blood led from his forehead down to his chin.

I clenched my teeth and started to crawl ahead.

"Mr. Sands, can you hear me?" I asked, tossing a look back at the destroyed kitchen. Everything was covered in dust, there was almost nothing left of the table, or even the surrounding chairs. I was incredibly lucky to have gotten away in time.

Sands looked at me with bleary eyes for a moment, and nodded.

"We need to get out of the house. Don't stand; you may aggravate your wounds like that." I placed a hand on his back and ushered him to head to the door. A medial team already ran inside, followed by the bomb squad. Both Sands and I were placed on stretchers and brought to a nearby ambulance, which had arrived alongside the bomb squad.

We were then brought to the Los Robles Hospital & Medical Center.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

_Michael Colley  
_

I entered the observation room with a slight limp. My legs weren't hurt too badly in the explosion, but they still ached in places. I stepped up next to Banker, who was watching a young woman with tanned skin and short, dark hair, sitting in the interrogation room. She was looking at the floor.

The woman was dressed in jean shorts and hoodie, lacking any makeup on her face. She appeared like she hadn't slept in a long time.

"She just came in and admitted to everything after the explosion, and how Sands was hurt, was reported." Banker said, crossing his arms.

"How much did she admit to, exactly?"

"Killing Bridges, London and Sleek. Setting up the explosive. This bitch is insane."

I nodded. "Is Detective Winston ready for the interrogation?" I asked.

"Yeah, he's waiting for you outside." Richmond said, stepping in and walking over next to Banker.

I nodded once more and stepped aside, heading to the investigation room.

Winston, an older detective with a few gray spots in his hair, was indeed waiting for me.

"How long has she been in there now?" I asked, heading over.

"About an hour now. She hasn't complained. Hell, she's barely moved."

"Right. Mind if I take lead here?"

"Go right ahead, Colley."

We stepped inside, the woman in the seat looking up at us as we entered. There were three seats in the room. The one the woman was sitting in, one in front of her, and one behind a desk on her left. Winston took the seat behind the desk while I sat down in front of her.

"Ms. Demire, was it? I'm detective Michael Colley, and my partner here is detective Roy Winston. We were told that you..."

"I did it, what else do you want from me? Tristen got hurt! I-I never wanted him to get hurt." She yelped.

"Please, calm down, Lee. May I call you Lee?"

She sniffed and nodded.

"Lee, I want you to relax some. Tristen has expressed that he is not angry at you. Matter of fact, he seemed flattered in the strangest sense."

Lee looked at me, and smiled brightly. "R-really? He did?"

"Yes. And, though you will be facing your charges anyway, it may come as a certain consolidation that Mr. Sands is not upset with you."

She nodded, and remained looking at me. This was what I had been aiming for.

"Now, Lee. When did you arrive at the police station to admit to your crimes?"

I watched her eyes closely. They looked to the right briefly. In a suspect, this was usually a reflex indicating they were remembering something. That much checked out.

"At around one in the afternoon."

"Do you recall who you confessed to?"

Another glance to the right. "Some officer, Rick... Something. Started with Rick, I think."

"Right. If you had gotten away with everything, what do you think would have happened?"

She looked to the left this time, indicating thought. "I was expecting to end up with Tristen, of course. Having lost so many people... He'd need support. And who could be more supportive than I?" She grinned.

"Right. Well, not a terrible plan, at least." I lied. That was absolutely awful. "Now, let's talk about the night of the first murder, when you killed Bridges. Is that correct?"

"Yes." Her eyes didn't move at that, as it was a simple question, of course.

"Now, I want you to tell me exactly what happened that night. What you did that night that lead up to the murder. How you left. To the smallest detail you can describe."

Winston glanced at me. My approach was rather unorthodox, but I felt that it was appropriate for now.

"Well, I went over there that night to spy on Tristen for a while. I saw him go up to his room, but his light remained on for a long time. I got a bit worried. So... Um, I had gotten his phone number from a friend. I called him, and asked him if he remembered me... He did. I told him to meet me outside, and he actually agreed." She beamed, remembering it. As in, I could tell she was remembering.

"He walked outside, and met me at the end of his driveway. He told me he had called Jack and made sure that he saw him exiting his house, so if something happened to him, Jack could be a witness."

She twiddled her thumbs for a moment, and then looked back at me. "I asked if he needed company. If I could just... Be around him. He said no... That I was a stalker, and he didn't want me around." Not a single look to the left. She wasn't making things up.

"Go on." I said, leaning forwards slightly.

"He went back inside... And I... I was angry. So I figured, what could be keeping him from being with me? And then it struck me! It was obvious he still had a thing for that Michelle bitch. So, I get rid of her..." She laughed to herself. I could tell that even Winston was getting a tad uncomfortable.

"Right. So, what did you do next?" I asked. So far things added up to what she said. The calls at night. Sands leaving his house, and returning so quickly.

"I went to her house. I've... Had experience with cameras and surveillance equipment before. It was a piece of cake removing all of it." She giggled. "I went inside... Up to her room..."

She was now grinning like mad. "And five minutes later I went back outside, got on my bike, and rode off. I had my leather biker gloves on, so you didn't find any prints. The surveillance recordings were almost no trouble to erase."

I nodded. So far it all fit. "And just a couple of days later, you broke into Sands' house."

She nodded. "Yes. I was so sure that with Michelle gone, he would be mine... But..." She bit her lip and closed her eyes. "He didn't even seem to recognize me. He appeared scared of me, he asked me who I was, he..." She opened her eyes again, her hands clenching her seat now.

"And that's what made you try and kill him?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "K-kill him? No! I would never do that! I wanted to convince him to be with me, no matter what it took. That officer ruined everything, and so did the skank that was with him at the hospital." She crossed her arms. "So I had to kill her, too. But first I had to get rid of the one person who could identify me."

"Sleek."

"Yes. I didn't feel the slight bit of remorse for it, either."

"And why is that, if I may ask?"

"Remember the talk that Bridges was cheating on Sands?"

"She did so with Sleek, didn't she?"

"That she did, the cunt."

I nodded. "Why leave all of that evidence, exactly?"

"Because he needed to know who it was. That it was I that loved him so much I would kill for him."

Yes, at this point she was beginning to even give me the creeps.

"Okay. How did you get the explosive into Burrel's home?"

"I pretended to be a Jehovah's witness. Goody-two-shoes let me in for a talk without question." She snorted. "Slapped the explosive under the table while she was making coffee. Had a remote detonator, so I didn't need to worry about anything like that. Pretended I got an important call and ran off."

"Remote detonator? If you had one, why did you not blow it up as soon as you left, and more importantly, why did you detonate it with Tristen and I in the room?"

"The detonator activated a timer instead of causing it to explode immediately. If the explosive was moved while it was active, it would have exploded. The beeping meant that Burrel, being a curious bitch, would end up killing herself. And I didn't activate it immediately because I didn't want the neighbors to associate the explosion and her death with the Jehovah's witness that had just stopped by."

I leaned back in my seat. Everything she said added up with the evidence we had perfectly. There was one problem we still faced, though.

"Thank you, Lee. We still have a few formalities to take care of. You wouldn't oppose being detained here for a while longer, would you?" I asked.

"No. That's okay." She responded and crossed her legs. I nodded to Winston and stood up, heading out. The older the detective followed right after.

"What did you mean by 'a few formalities', Colley?" Winston asked.

"Not exactly formalities, actually. But we still need to get the statement from one witness." I responded.

"And that witness would be?"

"Tristen Sands."

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

_Michael Colley_

"I am aware you are still skeptical about this, Banker." I said as we entered the nicely furnished, yet rather blandly colored psychiatrist's office.

"Why wouldn't I be? It's horseshit."

"It's true that hypnosis isn't entirely accurate. Sands will be as likely to remember false memories as he is to recall the truth. But, though we can't prove that Demire was lying by having Sands' memories not match her story, what we can do is confirm her words if his memories add up."

"And what if it simply doesn't work?"

"Then it simply doesn't work, and there is nothing more to it. We will convict Demire either way, but having Sands' able to provide a statement will make it that much easier."

Banker grumbled something, just as a middle aged man in a pale gray suit stepped in, followed by Sands, who had a bandage around his head.

"Please, take a seat, Mr. Sands." The man said, gesturing to one of the soft leather seats in the room. The artist complied, looking about nervously. Banker and I kept to the side as to not interfere with the therapist.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked.

"I guess?" Sands responded.

"Good, good. Let's start, then. Before we begin, I would like for you to do some tensing and relaxation of your muscles. I know you have recently suffered trauma, so if it's not wise for you to tense something, don't do so."

Sands smirked at this, seemingly finding it as silly as Banker, who sighed next to me. Still, the artist complied, first clenching his face, then relaxing it, then his shoulders, and so on and so forth, skipping only his leg, as he still wasn't entirely rid of the limp.

"Good. Now, as you listen to my voice, you may wonder how I will put you into a trance. As you listen to me, I want you to focus your gaze on an imaginary spot in the ceiling."

Sands leaned his head back against the chair, and looked up.

"That's good. In a few moments, I will begin counting. When I say one, you will slowly close your eyes, and when I say two, you slowly open them. Continue to open and close your eyes on alternating numbers until your eyelids feel so heavy that it would be simpler and more comfortable to just leave them closed. And whether your eyes are open or closed, do not move them, keep gazing at the single spot on the ceiling. Ready?"

"Yes." Sands answered, not lowering his sight as the man had instructed.

"One. Close your eyes now, but keep the gaze at the point."

I watched him. There was no indication whether he had his eyes closed or not.

"Two. Now slowly open them."

The hypnotist stepped closer to Sands to watch his eyes.

"Three. Closing your eyes now, you notice they feel so comfortable closed. Four. Now open them once again, continuing to gaze at the spot."

The therapist's voice became soother and soother with each number, each time telling Sands how his eyelids got heavier and heavier, how comfortable it was for them to remain closed. This continued up to the number 16. Sands eyes apparently didn't reopen.

"Now that your eyes are closed, I want you to keep listening to the sound of my voice, continuing to relax. In a moment you will feel so completely relaxed, so comfortable, that it will be so easy for you to enter trance.

As you enter the trance you will still hear my voice. You are still able to think, thoughts can be thought, but you have no reason to think, as you listen to my voice, you may wish to imagine those thoughts floating away.

As you relax, I wonder if you are able to remember, what does it feel like to be so completely relaxed that you lose all awareness of your body. Or perhaps what does it feel like to be so comfortable, cozy and warm that you can lower yourself down into comfort. Maybe if you've listened to what someone has said to you so intently, that everything else seemed to just melt away, and as you listen to my voice now, perhaps you can imagine how does it feel when all your tensions simply melt away, allowing you to lower yourself down into comfort."

As the hypnotist spoke, I could see Sands' muscles loosen more and more, his body truly appearing more and more relaxed. It was rather bizarre. To Banker and me, simply standers-by watching this all happen, the man's words didn't do much. They were soothing, of course, but it was obvious that Sands had truly become entranced by now.

The process continued. The man went on to tell Sands that he should simply try to enjoy the process, to relax. Until at a certain point, he snapped his fingers, and told him he was now in a trance. Banker snorted, and the doctor reminded Sands to ignore all other sounds but his voice. I gave the Officer a disapproving look, but he merely rolled his eyes.

The hypnotist continued to relax Sands, describing him how he was in a happy meadow, then moved onto describing some orb of pure relaxation entering his body, making it twice as relaxed.

Finally, he described him a sort of escalator of some sort. Counting to ten, he described how once he got to ten, Sands was now at the bottom of the escalator, deep in trance. And it appeared to actually work.

The hypnotist gave me a glance, and I nodded.

"You are now in front of a door, and feel the need to go through, yet you feel relaxed as you do it. You step through, and find yourself in your room. It is dark outside, and the lack of light other than your bedside lamp, the familiar colors make you feel so comfortable, so at home. As you listen to my voice, you are compelled to speak once asked something, to tell me what you see. Relax. Can you still hear me?"

"Yes." Sands responded quietly.

"Good. You are happy to relax in your bed, not thinking about anything. You were just released from the hospital today, and you feel well. You receive a call, noticing that you have a missed one as you pick up your phone. What happens next?"

There was a pause.

"I answer the call. It's from an unknown number." Sands finally said, still quietly. Banker crossed his arms, leaning forward just slightly. I noticed this and smirked to myself.  
"I say 'hello', and the voice in the phone replies with 'Tristen, are you okay?'. It's a female voice. I recognize it. It's the voice of the girl that had stalked me before the accident. Lee Demire."

I nodded to myself. Just like Demire had told us.

"She asks me to go outside and meet her. I tell her to wait at the end of my driveway. I then end the call, and see I have one missed from Jack. I call him, waking him up. I ask that he looks outside his window to watch me leave. This would mean I had an eye witness in case Demire tried to hurt me." He gulped.

"Relax. You are not hurt. You are safe, comfortable, and fully relaxed." The hypnotist turned to me. I gave him a nod for him to continue.

"You walk outside and see Ms. Demire waiting. You walk up to her. What do you talk about?"

"She asked if I needed company, if she could come inside. I.. Know she isn't fully sane. I say no. She seems so upset, and tries to reason with me. I keep denying her, but I don't want to be mean, even to her... she runs off, I go back inside..." His hands clenched on the armrest.

"Don't tense up. You are relaxed. You go back inside, back into your warm, comfortable room. You are not worried. You drift off to sleep in your bed, comfortable and relaxed."

Sands indeed became relaxed once again. At this point, Banker couldn't hide his astonishment.

"You sleep. In your dreams, you see something. What do you dream of, in your bed, warm and asleep?"

"I dream of... Me and a woman...Out on a drive. We stop at a gas station. She goes to the restroom. I sit in the car, and..."

My eyes widened slightly.

"Stop this." I whispered to the hypnotist. Sands was beginning to describe the accident. The woman he was referring to was his cousin, who had been visiting him that week.

"You wake up, rested and relaxed. You had a peaceful sleep."

Sands had begun to sweat. "N-no... The car..."

"You are beginning to leave trance. Listen to my voice, concentrate on nothing but the sound of my voice. I will count to five. Once I get to five, you will leave trance."

Sands shivered.

"One. You are slowly starting to awaken. Two. More and more with each number I count. Three. You are starting to acknowledge your surroundings once more. Four..."

The artist screamed, falling face-first onto the floor, covering his head and shaking.

I crouched down next to him. "Mr. Sands, are you alright?"

_Tristen Sands..?_

I shook a bit more for better effect. "I... I'm fine... I... Remember now." I said and looked up to see Colley's clueless, surprised face. Oh, I had remembered for a while now, detective.

I had to force myself not to grin. Everything had gone exactly as planned.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

_Sicarius_

The night I returned from the hospital was the first night I truly came out. I was so drastically different, I felt I should name myself differently. If the man I had been so far had been Tristen, 'Mr. Sandy', I felt like I should call myself more appropriately to what I did.

Sicarius. Latin for killer, assassin, murderer. Cheesy, yes, but I couldn't decide on anything better at the time.

I came to as I was lying on my bed. And I laid there for a short while longer, thinking of what I should do, when the phone rang. I recognized that number. The number of one lunatic who had turned out to be right about Michelle being a bitch.

"Hello, Lee." I said once I picked up the call.

"T-tristen? You remember me?"

"I do. I won't for long, but I do for now."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry about it now. Where are you?"

"I'm... Uh, outside."

"Good. Go to the end of my driveway."

"Wha- Oh, uh, okay! Sure!" She chirped. I could sense her excitement over the phone, and smirked. She won't be hard to use.

I ended the call and noticed how Sleek had called me. I thought for a moment. If I were to accomplish what I was planning to... Yes, having him see me leave the house could work. If his account matches mine and Lee's in that regard, my life could become easier.

I called him.

"Uh, what the fuck do you want, Tris?" Jack asked, having been woken up by my call.

"I'm sorry to call you this late, Jack, but something's come up. What I want you to do is look out your window, and watch me walk out of my house. You can then go back to sleep."

"The fuck?"

"Just trust me, it's important."

"If you say so, nutjob."

I dropped the call and got out of my bed. I then walked out of my room, down the stairs and out the front door. I saw Lee standing at the end of the driveway, swaying slightly, her hands held behind her back. She beamed and waved at me. I glanced to the left just at the last moment to see the lights in Jack's house turn off. He had gone back to sleep. Perfect.

I walked over to Lee, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She gasped a bit at that. Psycho.

"I need your help with something, Lee."

"A-anything for you, Tristen!"

I grinned. Never had I fully understood her devotion to Tristen. Neither did Tristen. Someone as psychotic as her, falling for such a childish wuss as Sands. Opposites attract, I suppose. I hoped at the time that she would like the new me as much as the old one.

"You remember Michelle, right?" I asked, looking into Demire's eyes.

She nodded. "Yeah, I remember her." I could hear the spite and hatred for that woman in her voice. Good.

"Wouldn't you agree that things would be better if she was gone?"

She blinked. "Yes! Yes, I have been saying that to- Oh, I'm, I'm sorry." She covered her head slightly. I couldn't help but laugh. She was so utterly blind, so clueless. She believed I would care if she would tell me how she was right. Hell, she believed I cared about her at all. Still, I had to act like it.

"Don't worry, it's alright. You were right. And I think it's about time we acted."

She uncovered her head, and looked at me sheepishly. "Acted?"

"Got rid of her, my dear." I cupped her chin with my finger and thumb, leaning ever so slightly closer to her face. "You want to help me, don't you?"

She gasped again. "Yes! Yes, anything!"

"Good. What I want you to do now is go to her house, and disable her surveillance systems. All of them. Then her alarm. Get in her house, and erase all footage of your presence from her security systems. Can you do that?"

"I... I think I can."

"Good. And if you get caught, tell them you were angry, that you believed Michelle was the one responsible for me getting hurt. Remember what you will say. _Memorize it._ Do not think of it on the spot."  
She nodded enthusiastically. I let go of her chin. "If all things go well, we may finally be together in the near future."

Her eyes widened. That appeared to be all the incentive she needed. She turned on her heal and rushed towards her bike which was parked further down the road. She then rode off, most likely to get tools. Good. I watched her ride off, then grinned and went back into my house.

I immediately went over to my surveillance room.

I suppose the biggest difference between Tristen and I were our skills, our memories and abilities. What Tristen forgot, the things he never bothered to remember or properly learn, I could recall with ease. Among those things was how to operate a computer.

I spent about an hour tweaking the settings and feed received from the cameras until I got the perfect result. All outside cameras but the in front of the front door remained untouched, but the front door camera now showed a loop of four seconds of no activity. This meant that when I go out the second time that night, it wouldn't get recorded. I did the same for all the cameras inside of the house.

I whistled as I walked down the stairs, into my kitchen. I got a pair of disposable rubber gloves from one of the cleaning cupboards, and picked out a knife from the knife drawer. I spent about five minutes washing and scraping the handle to get rid of any prints, and then stepped outside through the front door.

I wasted no time and headed towards Michelle's home. The door was not locked, I could tell it had been broken into. The cameras were gone. It was clear that Lee had not wasted time either.

I stepped in, and walked carefully up the stairs. A grin crept up on my face. Oh, how I would enjoy this. I encountered Lee at the top of the stairs, and whispered "Well done" in her ear as I passed by. She blushed, and hurried down the stairs as I walked onwards, to the bedroom door. I slowly opened the door, and walked up to the bed.

There she was. Sleeping in her bed, completely unaware of my presence. The woman who had entered my life and torn it apart. I would do justice to this world by getting rid of her.

I slammed my knife down into her stomach. Her eyes fluttered open as blood began to gush out, spraying on my clothes. I stabbed again and again, then, finally, I brought the knife back up, and back into the back of her neck. She died instantly. I felt a trickle of blood go down my cheek, having sprayed on my forehead. I had been right. Oh, how satisfying it was.

I walked back out, down the stairs, and out of the house.

Tristen was visited by the police the next day. Though I wasn't in control at the time, a part of his mind still belonged to Sicarius. I acted as an observer, evaluating the person who had announced himself as my opponent.

A calculating person, this detective Colley. I didn't pay much attention to the Officer. He wasn't calling the shots here, after all.

Colley seemed like a natural leader and investigator upon first encounter. Strangely so, as the conversation lasted for such a short time. Yet each word from his mouth seemed so well thought out and put together. I had to keep an eye out for him.

And yet, it would be his calculated moves that would let me get by him. An individual who knows what they're doing is an individual you can predict.

Though I wasn't able to surface that night, I was still able to think. I, a subconscious part of his mind, forced him to stay awake. He wound up looking through his photo book while I plotted. He actually looked up photos of Michelle. How cute.

But, alas, Tristen's weariness got the better of him, and he fell asleep.

The next morning, he called Burrel. Ah, yes, the flutters in his stomach that woman caused. Somewhat sickening, knowing how little the two had in common. Just because two people both cared for kids, and because the woman liked his art... I didn't find that enough to warrant him doing all this. No matter. She was attractive, at the very least.

They arranged a date the next day. This was a rather spontaneous decision on Tristen's part. A spontaneous decision that ruined oh so many of my plans. I had intended to use the night to make sure Lee gets rid of the evidence, but I needed to reschedule now. How inconsiderate of these two.

What happened throughout the rest of the day was, quite possibly, the most important part of my plan. Detective Colley and Officer Banker stopped by again. They told Tristen they were suspecting him.

I had not fully accounted with this. But what I had accounted for was just how naive and do-goody Tristen was. He gave them the footage without hesitation.

The reason why I erased the footage of me leaving the second time, but not the first time, was simple. The police didn't have to be that brilliant to realize that someone did, in fact, kill Michelle. They needed to find whoever had done it.

Tristen would give them all the evidence they needed, most likely confusing the cops at first. But, once Lee would make herself known, the evidence that had previously made Tristen appear guilty would prove his innocence instead.

As I left the house and returned in the footage, I clearly didn't have enough time to go out to Michelle's house, disable the security systems so efficiently and kill her. I did have the time to speak with the psychotic stalker that would kill to be with me.

Of course, Tristen was clueless to all of this. He had no memory of that interaction, or anything else that night. Which would make any investigator either very suspicious, or point them towards the obvious fact that Tristen suffered from amnesia. That fact would be just what would let me get away with this.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

_Sicarius_

I stood up rather shakily and glanced around the room. "I... I remember all of last year now... I remember all my work, my life, I... Michelle... Oh God..." I contorted my face into an expression of sorrow. Colley patted me on the back.

"It's over now, Mr. Sands. With you as a witness, we can convict Demire without issue."

I nodded slightly, and hugged myself.

"Now come along. Someone has been waiting for you outside."

I nodded yet again. Of course there was. I went towards the door, stepped through, and was met by Burrel. She hugged me.

"Are you okay, Mr. Sandy?" She asked.

"Yes... Yes, Catherin, I'm fine. I remember everything now."

She blinked and looked me in the eyes. "You do? That's great!"

"Yeah.... Say, would you like to go out somewhere for dinner some time?" I asked.

She blinked. "Sure! Of course!" She hugged me again, and I smirked. Things were going to go my way, and my way only from now on.

I got out of the cab I had taken back home, and saw that Duncan was standing around in front of the door. He appeared like he hadn't shaved, combed his hair or even changed in a day or two.

"Heeeey bro!" He greeted me and went for a high five. I left him hanging.

"Why were you lying to me, Duncan?" I asked. It wasn't just that he didn't have any projects now, oh no. He hadn't had one in a long time.

"What?" He appeared genuinely confused. Cute.

"I regained my memory. I know what happened to you during the past year. So, please, tell me why you lied."

Duncan's shoulders slumped down. That usual smile of his faded away. "I'm a mess, bro. I hoped I could get back on my feet before you could remember. Dad's been supporting me for a while now and I just... I ran out of the last of my cash last night."

My fist clenched. I wished I could just tell him to piss off. To leave and never come back there again. But that wouldn't be what good big brother Tristen would do, would it?

I placed a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced up at me.

"Don't worry, bro. You can stay at my place until you get back on your feet."

He blinked, and smiled. "Really? Aw, thanks, bro!" He hugged me, and I returned it as best as I could. "I won't forget this, dude!"

It struck me now what a punchable face Duncan had. The sunglasses never helped that image, too. I just unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Make yourself at home. My home is yours, after all." I said, placing my jacket on the coat rack. Duncan did the same with his leather one, and took a seat on the couch. I watched him for a moment, before heading up to my room without saying another word.

 

The day Tristen handed the police the tapes, I gained control again. And he made it that much easier by getting drunk - he wouldn't question the lack of memory, or the passage of time.

I went up to my room, leaving the cane laying by the couch, as I saw no need in it myself, opened the window and looked outside. Sure enough, Lee was standing below, waving at me enthusiastically. I nodded to her, and pointed towards the front door.

I closed the window yet again and walked downstairs. As I opened the front door, Lee immediately ran in and hugged me. I stumbled back a bit.

"Hiya, Tristen!" She said cheerily.

"Hello, Lee." I closed the door, glancing out first to make sure nobody had seen her. "We have much to discuss today."

I told Lee to remove the surveillance cameras around my house first. In the meantime, I erased all video footage from the security computers. All evidence of her being here now gone. Matter of fact, all evidence except for that which Colley already had was now gone.

Once all the footage was erased, I destroyed _everything_. Tristen couldn't easily replace all this tech any time soon. This would buy me some time. I then headed back downstairs, and Lee entered soon after. She took a seat next to me on the couch, placing her hands in her lap.

"Now, Lee. The crime we committed last night wasn't perfect. Far from it."

She gasped. "Oh my God, did I do something wrong? I'm so sorry!"

"No, you did excellently. I would say you even did better than I had hoped. But the police will need to convict someone for this. And they will have no issue convicting me with the evidence they have. Do you understand?"

She slowly nodded.

"How much do you love me, Lee?" I asked.

She blinked, and appeared to blush some. "More than anything, Tristen! I would do anything for you!"

"Anything?"

Another nod.

"Even go to prison for me?"

She hesitated some. "If you're sure there would be no other way... Yes. I would go to prison for you if I had to."

I couldn't help but smirk. Excellent.

"Then, if we ever get caught, I suppose we should get our stories straight?"

"Right."

"So, the night of the murder, you were outside my house. Stalking me, you saw the light in my room. You called me. All of that is the truth, and you can leave it like that. But I responded to your call rather begrudgingly. You were the one who suggested meeting outside, at the end of the driveway. You were surprised I agreed. Are you following this so far?"

"Yes..."

"Good. You will need to memorize this story to the point you recall the events I am describing before you do the events that actually occurred."

While she seemed confused at first, she then nodded.

"Now, once I walked out and spoke to you at the end of the driveway, I told you that I had called Jack and told him to watch me leave my house." I continued. "I actually had done that. Jack will be able to confirm that in the story. I told you that I did it so that if something happened to me, he could be a witness."

"Okay." She swallowed, a bit frightened.

"You asked me if I needed company. If you could spend the night with me. I declined you, told you I didn't want you there, I called you a freakish stalker." I placed a hand on hers. She looked up at me and smiled weakly.

"I went back inside. You were angry. In your anger, you pondered what kept me from being with you. You guessed it was Michelle, that I still had feeling for her. At this point you can explain how things actually were with you disabling the security systems. And then... You killed her, walked out, got on your bike and drove off. Everything clear?"

"Yeah, I think I got it, Tristen."

I rubbed her shoulder. "Now... I'll have to explain you some things."

"What things?" She looked at me, and I looked back into her eyes.

"I'm suffering from amnesia. At times I won't remember who you are. When that happens, I want you to get away from me, as I might do something stupid."

"O-okay..."

"Now, before we go upstairs, we need to plan out our next move."

"U-up... Um, what next move?" She shook it off, blushing a deep red. I smirked.

"Killing Michelle was merely the beginning. Something for the police to distract themselves with while we get rid of what truly stands in my way."

She tilted her head. "And that would be...?"

"Jack Sleek."

 

I walked up to my room, leaving Duncan watching the TV. I checked under the mattress, and found the spare phone hidden under it still there. I pressed on the most recently called number and put the phone to my ear. Two rings.

"Hello?" A raspy voice responded.

"I'm aware."

"Understood." The man ended the call, and I hid the phone again. The next part of my plan had just begun.

 

"What do you mean? I know Jack is a cunt, and he did fuck Michelle, but..."

"Don't worry about it, Lee. I know what I am doing. It'll just take time. But first..."

I thought for a moment. I had to see Catherin Burrel tomorrow night. All my surveillance equipment was disabled. What would Colley do?

He would have someone watch me. And that someone watching me could be the gateway for me to vouch for my innocence.

"Tomorrow night, I shall go to the hospital to see a nurse, Catherin Burrel. I will spend a night at her place, as both she and the police will believe my home won't be safe for me."

Thought a bit taken aback by me stating that I will spend the night with another woman, she collected herself. "Why would they think that, if they suspect you're the killer?"

"Simple. They just need to see someone trying to kill me. And you will be the one doing it."

Her eyes widened. "W-what? I couldn't do that!"

"Don't worry. You won't harm me. Tomorrow night, you will rent a car. You will cover the license plate and any other markings on it, and drive to the hospital. I know you have a gun. Bring it with you. There will be someone following me. Once you stop the car in front of the hospital, aim at me. The follower will make themselves known. Once they do, it will be up to you to kill them, and then drive off. Cover your face and as much of your figure as possible when you do all of this. Got it?"

"Aye, aye, Tristen!" She saluted, smiling brightly. Oh how naive she was.

"Good. Now head up to my room. I'll join you in a moment."

"Okay... Should I, um, get into something more com-?"

"No. Remain dressed." I responded. Good lord, this woman.

"Okey dokey, Tristen!" She hopped up, and skipped off upstairs. I checked the time. It was nearly 1 AM. No doubt Tristen would take over again soon. I began to drink some and wrinkle my clothes, and then laid out on the couch. Once Tristen would wake up, he would go upstairs, scare off Lee, find out his surveillance cameras are all down, and inform Colley about all of it. Colley would then proceed to have someone keep an eye on Tristen, who would go meet Catherin. Lee would show up, kill the man who was keeping an eye on Tristen, and the two would go to her house for the night.

And what do you know. It worked out just like that.

 

My top priority the next couple of days was controlling Lee. I couldn't let her do something rash, such as killing Catherin. I could feel the hatred she felt against her for spending the night with me.

It all went smoothly. The night Lee would kill Jack had arrived. I could hardly sleep that night. Or, rather, Tristen hardly could. When the morning arrived, so did the cops. For the briefest moment I was nervous. What if they find Sleek too late? What if it all goes to waste?

But Colley, seeming to have the delusional belief that I was innocent came to the rescue. It didn't take long for them to figure out the message behind the photo from the night that office died.

They brought Tristen to Burrel's home. Colley even told him to go inside. Oh, how perfect it was. I didn't even have to manipulate Sands one bit.

Everything had gone exactly according to plan. And it was made that much better when the explosion knocked Sands down on the head, and put me back in control. I had hoped that inevitably remembering the events of the past year would do it eventually...

But all of this put things in motion much quicker.

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

_Sicarius_

I walked back down the stairs. Duncan appeared to not have moved, staring down at the coffee table. I watched him for a moment before walking over and crouching down in front of him, looking up at his face.

"What happened to you, Duncan?" I asked like the compassionate man Tristen was.

He sighed. "Remember how I got engaged with Maria before you got in the accident? It lasted a week. I got depressed, both from what happened to you and her leaving me... I... Got into some bad habits. Up until a month ago I still wore the engagement ring." He gave a fake, forced chuckle. "Sold it for... Sold it for coke."

I was almost taken aback by this. True enough, Duncan was always a wild card, but I wouldn't have guessed he'd get himself involved with drugs. Either way, Tristen would support him.

"Don't worry, bro. We can get through his together." I patted him on the shoulder. He gave a weak smile. " I'm off to the store now. Need anything?" I asked.

"No, I'm good. Thank you again for letting me stay here."

"Don't mention it." I stood up and headed towards the front door. I looked back at him and grinned. You won't be staying here for long, 'bro'.

_Julia Sleek_

I watched the man leave his house and walk along the beach for a while. Was this Tristen Sands? I assumed so, as he fit the description Jack gave me. I sighed and got out of my car, which I had parked next to poor Jack's house. I walked up to the door and took out the key he had given me all those months ago.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I felt a chill run down my spine. It felt so strange walking in here, knowing Jack was gone. Sure, he had his issues. He was hated by many. But he was still my big brother.

I set my bags down by the door, and just walked around the house for a while. I recalled the rare moments I got to hang out around here. How at those times he still reminded me of the innocent kid that would play tag or hide and seek with me when we were little.

I sat down heavily in one of the leather bound chairs in the living room, and placed my face in my hands. What was I to do now? Jack had been the only close person I had in my life. And now he was gone.

The inheritance I got from dad, who didn't leave a penny to Jack, combined with what Jack left me meant I didn't even need to find a job. And to think, a year ago that would've come as a blessing. And now I just felt so useless.

I spent the next few hours unpacking my things. Along with the money, Jack had left me this house. Having nowhere else to go, I had decided to make it my home. Though it made me miss him, it still had plenty of good memories attached to it.

Once I had unpacked, I went up to the bedroom and flopped down in bed. I was tired from my flight here. Still, I forced myself to get back up so I could undress. As I got up, I glanced out the window. Tristen Sands was walking back from wherever he had gone, carrying a shopping bag and some kind of package. Figures. I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

The face looking back at me wasn't the happy party girl anymore. Hadn't been for a long time. My eyes were red, my dark hair in messy locks. I didn't even bother with my makeup anymore. I didn't care enough to do so.

I went back into the bedroom after brushing my teeth and changing, and got under the covers. This was the bed where he had slept. I sighed, and cuddled the blanket. I felt tears forming in my eyes. And for once, I let myself cry. Nobody would see me do it here. And I just had to let it out eventually.

_John Richmond_

I took in a breath before stepping into the chief's office.

"Sir, do you have a moment?" I asked as I went over to his desk.

He looked up from his paperwork. He hadn't shaved in a while, his usually neatly groomed mustache now quite a bit messy and surrounded by stubble. "Yes. What is it, Richmond?"

"It's about the Bridge and Sleek investigation."

"Alright. What about it?"

"I suspect we caught the wrong person, sir."

He watched me for a moment, scanning me. I could feel it.

"And what makes you suspect that, officer? The evidence adds up. Demire admitted to it. Even detective Colley's decided to convict her, as has Officer Banker."

"We still haven't found the video footage from Bridges' home. And don't you feel like things just... Turned out a bit too well for Sands?"

He raised a brow. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"He had nothing to earn from Bridges death. Nothing physical, at least. That much is true. But Sleek's death on the other hand..."

"You're not seriously still suspecting Sands, are you?"

"Just hear me out, chief. Almost immediately after Sleek's death, his manager contacted Sands and hired him. Sands basically filled in Sleek's spot in the entertainment business."

"Couldn't Sand have gotten back in the business himself?"

"I'm no expert in the business, chief, but having a manager helps, I assume."

The chief shook his head. "What other evidence do you have, Richmond?"

"Uh, not much. But things just point towards Colley's original theory, that Tristen's amnesia kept him from remembering those events."

"But he's remembered now, and claims the same as Demire. We have all the evidence we need. We won't be tossing that away because of a hunch you have, Richmond."

I sighed. "Very well, sir. I understand. Sorry to disturb you."

I turned and walked out. As I stepped out the door and turned right, I was met by Colley. I stumbled back slightly at the sudden appearance of the detective's face. He didn't as much as flinch.

"Uh, hello, detective." I greeted.

_Michael Colley_

"Hello, officer Richmond." I answered. "I couldn't help but overhear what you were talking to the chief about. Do you truly believe that Demire might not have done it? That it was Sands?"

Richmond hesitated, as if considering whether he should tell me his concerns or not. After a moment, though, he responded. "Yes, detective. I do."

I nodded. "Good. So do I, Officer Banker and detective Winston."

He blinked. "What? If that's true, why the hell did you close the case? Why did you accept Demire's confession so easily?"

_John Richmond_

"I will explain elsewhere. Follow me." He started walking away, not even looking back to see whether or not I was actually following him. I glanced back into the chief's office, the man still sitting there, deep in paperwork. Then followed after the detective.

Colley led me out of the building. He started walking down the path. I looked around for a moment, before running up to him.

"Hold up a second, Colley. Where the hell are you going?"

"Since day one of our investigation I have been leading my own on the side. More so after I put Banker in charge of the investigation. Right now we are heading to what I have designated as our current temporary investigative headquarters."

"What? Why don't you just do it back at the station? Does the chief straight up prohibit you from continuing investigation?"

He rounded the corner, heading towards a plain looking internet café.

"No. But we can't continue the investigation there. People talk. If word gets out that we are still investigating him, he might become more careful. And we need him to slip up."

He entered the café, and I followed after, still confused.

"Okay, so, what? Ho do you go about doing two separate investigations like that?"

"We find free time to do meetings and conduct the investigation. If you do not wish to work with us, I understand. But if you are sure about it, I would like for you to go now, rather than later. And to not reveal to anyone that we're doing this investigation. I hope you can understand that."

He turned around in front of a door at the back of the café, a sign reading 'Employeed Only' hung over it. His voice had gone quieter as we went in. There were a few people in the café, mostly college students with their laptops and tablets. Colley and I had a bit of a stare down for a moment.

"Fine. I'd at least like to see what you people have figured out."

Colley nodded and opened the door, gesturing for me to step in. None of the staff appeared to be bothered by this. I gave them a bit of a worried look, then stepped in.

Inside was a room that looked hardly what I would expect a café back room to look like. Several computer screens lined up on one of the walls, three keyboards below them, sitting on some simple desks. A map of the area on another wall, and a physical evidence wall. There were also several cardboard boxes, filing cabinets and stacks of documents and files. Banker and Winston were currently looking through one of the aforementioned boxes placed on the desk.

Colley entered behind me and shut the door. Banker and Winston looked up at us.

"Officer Richmond here shares our suspicion that Mr. Sands was involved more than we were previously led to believe. And he may be interested in joining the investigation." Colley said as he walked by me. Winston returned to looking over the contents of the box, while Banker turned to me, crossing his arms.

"Well, kid? What will it be?" He grunted. I had to force myself not to shudder. The man scared me.

"If you still suspect Sands and don't think Demire did it, why are you still convicting her?" I blurted out.

"Because the chief wanted her convicted, and we had no physical evidence pointing towards Sands that didn't point to Lee as well." Colley answered, sitting down on a metal armchair by the desk. His fingers began to glide across the keyboard at a speed I couldn't fathom. This guy knew how to use a computer.

"I could've requested permission to continue the investigation, but like I said before, at the moment, we cannot afford to let Sands know we are still investigating him. The fact Demire herself gave a confession means we won't have to worry about any lawsuits in case we do in fact prove her innocent."

I nodded slowly. "We have no reason to release Lee while we investigate Sands. Right."

Colley glanced back. "We? So, I assume that means you intend to join us?"

I looked between the three men.

"Yes. I do."

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

_Sicarius_

I returned to my house to see that Duncan had left the living room. I could faintly hear the fridge open and close, as well as whistling coming from the kitchen.

"I'm home, bro." I called out, hiding the package in my hands behind the hall closet. It was thin enough to fit between it and the wall.

I went into the living room and placed the shopping bag on the couch. Duncan stepped in with a can of coke in one hand and an apple in the other.

"What's in the bag, bro?" He asked, dropping down in one of the armchairs. He popped the coke open with a tooth and took a sip. A loud sip.

I dug through the bag. "Now that I've got my memory back I've realized I've technologically fallen back, you know. My new manager wants me to start releasing albums and such, and while I record most of that stuff at the studio, and I have someone editing it for me, I could still use something at home for it." I said, and took out an iPad and pair of headphones.

"Huh. Neat. You used to always be all against this stuff and whatnot. Didn't want to mess your work up with pointless gadgetry, or something."

I laughed. "Yes, that was kind of silly, wasn't it?"

It truly was. Tristen was a fool. At the end of the day, the world truly was better off with me, rather than that poor bastard. I would've gotten something better than an apple product, of course, but I chose what Tristen would choose. He was a useless shmuck when it came to technology.

I got away from Duncan and useless chit-chat as soon as I could, and went up to my room, taking the package out from behind the closet along the way. Once in my room, I closed and locked the door, and opened the package, emptying its contents on my bed. I went through the photos and files provided for a good hour, before taking pictures of each one with my new equipment.

I then tore each apart and flushed it down the toilet.

_Julia Sleek_

I slowly opened my eyes. It was only 5 AM, but I couldn't force myself to sleep anymore. In my sleep I had ended up hugging my pillow, and sighed as I placed it back at the end of the bed. I then got out, took a shower, got dressed and went downstairs.

I prepared my breakfast, which consisted of a few pieces of toast and a glass of milk, and went out on the porch. I sat down in one of the chairs facing the beach. I watched the waves flow in the distance, the slowly rising sun lighting up the scene. It was beautiful. Peaceful. I could get used to it.

I finished my breakfast and reclined in the chair, closing my eyes. At some point, I dozed off.

 

When I woke up, an hour had already passed. I had surprised myself by falling asleep, as I hadn't felt like sleeping at all back in my bed. I yawned and stretched, then looked out at the beach once more.

Someone was walking along it, dressed in a pair of jeans, t-shirt and light jacket. I could make out the shape of sunglasses on their face from afar.

I slowly stood up and watched them for a moment. That wasn't Sands, yet he appeared to be coming from the direction of Sands' house. Or... Maybe this was Sands, and whoever I saw yesterday wasn't? I shook my head off, and went over to simply introduce myself rather than try to guess. That'd be silly.

I walked over, and forced myself to smile.

"Excuse me?" I called out a few feet behind him. He stopped and turned around. The man had tanned skin and swept back, blonde hair. He smiled. "Hello there. Can I help you, miss?"

"Um, I just moved in here." I said, pointing back at the house. "My name's Julia Sleek. Are you Tristen Sands?"

"Oh, no. I'm his brother, Duncan. A pleasure to meet you, Julia." He said. "...Was Jack your.... Brother, or something?"

I nodded. "Yes. He left me his house, and I didn't have a reason not to move in. So here I am."

Duncan nodded. "Well, er, welcome to the neighborhood, though I don't really live here. Just crashing at my brother's place for a while."

"I see." I responded. Crashing at his brother's place. So this man must have be homeless, broke, or pathetically lonely. Figures.

"Um. I should go now. It was nice meeting you, Duncan." I said and turned to walk back to my home.

"Likewise, Julia." I heard the man say behind me. I glanced back to see that he had returned to simply walking along the beach. Weird.

I went back up to the bedroom and sighed. I had to start going through Jack's stuff now. The police had cleared a lot of it out, and confiscated so many things as evidence, but there still were his things around the place. Things that once belonged to him, but he had now left for me.

There were some old photo books, various trinkets and souvenirs, clothes, notebooks and records from various business deals. But out of everything, one thing stood out.

One of the notebooks said 'Happy Birthday' on the cover, written hastily with a permanent marker. I blinked. When we were kids, and our parents would argue, we would often tell each other those two words to sort of calm each other. As we grew older, we began to use it as a sort of code for situations when we needed support.

Did this mean he knew that he would be killed? Why hadn't he called me to begin with if he wanted to leave me a message, and why not just leave?

I took a deep breath before opening the notebook. It was almost entirely empty, but for a single page.

On it was written 'Julia. Do not trust Sands. I think he may have killed Bridges. And so does the police. If you ever read this, I'm dead. Probably killed. Stay safe, little sis. Happy Birthday.'

The notebook fell from my hands and onto the floor. I realized my breathing had begun to speed up. I sat down on my bed, hugging myself. I had thought they had captured the psycho that killed Jack. But if he suspected this Sands person, could it mean that the police had been wrong? That he was the real killer, and was still on the loose, still living just next door?

I shivered. The thought alone was nauseating. Whether it was true or not, I had to find out. I couldn't leave the lingering thought that my brother's killer was still out there, living his life while what little remained of our family was torn apart.

I had to find out more about Sands.

_John Richmond_

Colley placed a box heavily in front of me, filled in its entirety with various files, photos and reports. I looked at him with a raised brow.

"What's all this, exactly?"

"It's everything on unsolved cases in Los Angeles and Malibu from June to July of last year."

"Wait, what? What's that got to do with the case?" I asked, taking out one of the files describing the murder of some prostitute in downtown LA.

"The way Bridges' death was planned out and executed showed professionalism. Something Lee lacked, but if Sands is indeed the killer, he needed practice. Said practice would most likely come from the time which he had lost to amnesia." Colley responded, taking the seat at the computer desk.

"And why's that?" I asked.

"Because Tristen Sands is not a killer."

"Er, excuse my confusion, but... What?"

"You yourself told the chief that you believed in my previous theory. That Sands had these sort of bursts of memory loss, moments he wouldn't later remember. And it was during those moments that he committed the murders."

"So? It was still Tristen, was it not?"

He put a finger up to his lips, appearing to be in thought. "That's what feels strange. I honestly do not think Tristen could have done it."

"What do you mean?" I asked, having begun to read through the various files from the box.

"I now suspect that it's not just that he doesn't remember those moments. Instead, he becomes an entirely different person altogether."

"Like split personalities or something?"

"Essentially, yes. Of course, we can't physically prove this, not without him in custody, but if we manage to determine when he is and isn't in the right mind, we could get Tristen to aid us, while going after this other personality."

"Why would Tristen help us catch another facet of him? If anything, knowing there's another part of him, a murderous one, a person like him would probably just simply give himself in." I said, rather skeptical about all of this.

"True. But we still do not have much to go on. Not until we find something in these records."

I nodded, and returned to digging through the collection of files. Case after case, murder after murder. And every one unsolved. It was rather chilling, knowing how many monsters we didn't catch, how many were still out there. But still, being able to prevent just a fraction of cases like this was worth it.

And if we catch Sands, we can add that to the list of cases solved.

_Sicarius_

I walked down the stairs after a night's sleep to find that Duncan had gone out. I didn't really care where he had gone. Tristen would. _I_ didn't.

I used the chance when he was out to make a call.

After a single ring, the same raspy voice from earlier responded.

"Sicarius. Did you receive the package?"

"Yes. What's the timeframe?"

"Four weeks for the current set."

"Understood. I should be done in two weeks. But remember, if I find out about a single inaccuracy, or that one of the targets didn't match my criteria, you can consider our deal done for."

"You cannot scare me, Sicarius. But don't worry. Each target's been picked out specifically for you and your... desires."

"Good. I will call you after the first one is done." I ended the call, erased it from the phone's memory and placed the device under the couch cushion. It was another spare, and I would get rid of it later.

As I took my usual seat in one of the armchairs, I heard the front door open.

"I'm back, bro! Went out for a walk on the beach." Duncan called from the door.

"Oh? Needed to clear your head?" I called back.

"Yeah." He hopped over the sofa and landed on the cushion under which I had hidden the phone. "Met our new neighbor, too."

This caught my interest. "New neighbor?"

"Yeah. Nice girl, name's Julia. She's Jack's brother, apparently. He left her his home after, uh. You know."

I nodded. I hadn't entirely accounted for this. Bu it shouldn't cause too much trouble. Still, I would have to exercise more caution than I normally would have. She might have seen me walk by with the package. But that shouldn't mean much to her if anything.

"Is she cute?" I asked Duncan with a smirk. Tristen probably would. Or so I thought, at least.

"Uh, I mean, I guess? She seemed tired as balls. Like she hadn't slept well."

"That makes sense, I suppose. She has had a lot to deal with lately, I imagine."

"Yeah... Oh, hey, I know! You could do an act for her to welcome her in the neighborhood!"

"Oh, uh, are you sure that'd be a good idea? She might feel like staying alone now. With having to deal with her brother's death and all." I said, trying to weasel my way out of this idea. But, alas, I knew Duncan would probably not take my arguments.

I hadn't had time to practice my acts yet. And without that practice, I didn't yet know if I could pull them off the way Sands could. Hell, even Sands hadn't practiced in a while.

"Oh, come on. With the way you do your acts you're bound to cheer her up! Either way, you should meet her, bro!" He said, standing up. "Come on."

"Not now, I'm afraid." I said as I stood up as well. "I actually have to get to the studio now. Lots of things to record. I'll be back later tonight. See ya, bro." I said and scooted by him, not allowing him time to stop me.

"Oh. Uh, see ya." He said behind me as I stepped out the front door. I took a deep breath and relaxed. I actually did have some things to deal with now, though not a recording session.

I had promised the man to be done in two weeks. That meant it would be smart to begin now. I had a lot of preparations to make.

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

_John Richmond_

I had stepped out of the café for a smoke. It was 11 PM, and Banker had already went home. I had stayed with Colley and Winston. Colley had remained inside, going through file after file on that computer of his. The amount of effort he was putting into this was astonishing, the amount of calculation. It really showed why people tended to praise his investigative abilities.

I heard footsteps coming from behind, and looked back to see Winston walking over, lighting a cigarette of his own with an engraved silver Zippo lighter. He pocketed the lighter and stood next to me.

"Have you found anything that could relate to Sands in those case files?" He asked.

"No. You?"

"Nothing."

"Do you really think we're going to find anything there?"

He took his cigarette out from between his teeth and tapped it off, placing it back afterwards. "Colley seems to believe we will. Never have had the need to doubt him before, and I hopefully never will."

"Right... He's never wrong, is he?"

"Oh, no. He's wrong plenty. He initially thought Demire was guilty, and ended up regretting rushing in with the conviction order. He was wrong to send London out alone, and he was wrong to trust Sands in the first place"

He older detective tossed the cigarette onto the ground and stepped on it, putting it out instantly. "But I still trust that man more than many people on the police force combined. The kid's sharp. No doubt about that. Now come on, we got work to get back to."

I put out my own cig and followed him back inside.

_Michael Colley_

I looked through file after file, case after case, yet nothing stood out. The lines of text were almost a blur by now, leaving me unable to concentrate. I sighed, reclined in my seat and rubbed out my eyes.

It was getting late, yet we weren't that much closer to anything. Banker had left early so he could track Sands the first thing in the morning. I had already called one of my contacts to keep an eye on him.

Winston stepped in, followed by Richmond.

"Anything yet, Colley?" Winston asked, walking over. Richmond stayed behind, leaning against the wall.

"Nothing yet, no. Although I did find this." I said, pulling up a news article from this August. The title said 'Hollywood star Duncan Sands found guilty of purchase and possession of illegal substances, police say'.

Winston read the title and nodded. "So, Sands' brother's a druggie. Not that rare in Hollywood nowadays."

"Yes, and the whole ordeal cost Duncan his job, fiancée and career. He had already filmed in only a couple of low quality b-list movies during the months leading up to this, and it had been the final nail in the coffin." I added.

"And what's it got to do with Tristen and how he might be the killer? Were the murders caused by the artist feeling anger at the world because of what happened to his brother? Did finding out about it trigger some kind of reaction in him?" Richmond guessed.

"No." I responded. "This had nothing to do with the murders."

"What? What do you mean? And why is this even important if you're correct?" Richmond continued to question.

"Neither Tristen nor Duncan showed any sign of him knowing about it during the time we were observing him on our original investigation."

Richmond wasn't convinced. "So? Could've just been acting."

"Yes, but it doesn't seem likely. Tristen was in a coma during Duncan's drug scandal. So the only real source for him to find out about it would be from Duncan himself, and I doubt he'd hurry to tell that to his brother who's just woken up from a coma like that. He would hesitate to tell him either way."

The officer nodded slightly. "Right. So how does this all help us?"

"We can operate under the assumption that Tristen's found out about the situation by now, having regained his memory. But we could also consider that he wouldn't yet know about the full extent of what happened, or at the very least, Duncan wouldn't be aware that Tristen knows." I got out of my seat and went over to the coffee machine tucked away in the corner, pressing a few buttons and waiting for my brew to be made.

"...And?" Richmond asked.

"We can use Duncan and his wish for Tristen to not learn about his various endeavors to gather information on him and his actions." Winston said.

"Right." I said, and went back to my seat. As the two men went back to work, my phone rang. I took it out and put it to my ear. It was Banker.

The two men watched me while I nodded to myself, and responded with short 'Yes's and 'Right's. Once I put down the device I looked back up at them.

"It seems we will have another new witness. Someone has moved into Jack Sleek's home. His sister, Julia Sleek."

 

_Julia Sleek_

I woke up the next morning at 7 AM, nervous. I hadn't slept well, worried that there might actually be a killer living right next door. Was the brother, Duncan, also in on it? Hell, was it Duncan that was the killer? He didn't seem very threatening. More pathetic, really. But I supposed that could be part of the act. Innocent and friendly on the outside, a psychotic killer on the inside.

I got out of bed and prepared for the day as usual. I went downstairs and got a cup of coffee, sipping it in front of the window looking out at Sands' home. I was trying to calm myself by watching the calm, quiet house. But I was disturbed by a ring at my door. I jumped slightly at it, dropping my cup. It shattered on the floor, spilling coffee in a puddle on the ground. I eeped, and exclaimed "IN A MINUTE!"

I then immediately covered my mouth. God I was an idiot! Why'd I announce my presence like that before seeing who was at the door? There were even cameras for that very purpose for crying out loud! Jack would be disappointed in me.

Still, there was no going back now. I quickly wiped up the coffee with some paper towels, shoved the ceramic shards under the counter with a broom and hurried over to the door.

I looked at the camera feed. It showed a young man in a plain T-Shirt and jeans standing there with his hands in his pockets. He had short, black hair, a decent build and he was wearing a pair of dark frame glasses.

Could this be Sands? I gulped, and pressed the intercom button next to the camera screen.

"Um. Who are you?" I asked.

The man looked up, directly at the camera, and dug through his pocket. "Detective Michael Colley, LAPD." He said, showing his ID to the camera.

I released a held breath, relieved. The police... Wait, the police!? What did they want from me?

"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions, Ms. Sleek?"

"Oh, uh, sure." I pressed a couple of buttons on the keypad, and the door clicked. Moments later, the young detective opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him and glancing around afterwards.

"Um. Hi!" I gave a short wave.

He looked at me; his eyes showed how he, most likely, hadn't slept much as of late, either. "Hello. I'm sorry to disturb you, and I know it's been tough for you, but new evidence has showed up and we could use your testimony."

"T-testimony? I'm sorry, but... I wasn't here when it all happened. I was in New York. I can try to help, but I can't promise I'll be of any use."

"That's quite alright." He walked by me and found his way to the living room, where he promptly took a seat on the couch. I arched a brow. That was pretty strange behavior for a police detective.

I went to the living room myself and took a nearby seat.

"I thought you had already caught the person responsible for Jack's death? That woman, Demire?"

"Yes, but our evidence indicates that she had an accomplice. Someone who was, in fact, calling the shots in the case."

I gripped the edge of my seat slightly. "So... The person responsible is still on the loose?"

"Not necessarily, but our current evidence suggests it, yes." The detective took out a pen and notepad. "You wouldn't mind answering some questions, would you?"

"Oh, um, no, not at all." I responded. I could feel my breathing becoming more rapid. So did that mean Jack really had been right? That even if Demire killed him, it was Sands who made it happen? I shuddered at the thought.

"Did you remain in contact with Jack at all when you went to New York?"

"Yes. We still called each other, and exchanged messages online. Chatted on Skype occasionally."

"And did you continue doing so during the month leading up to his death?"

I nodded, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Yes, but slightly less. He had lots of work to do. And Michelle's death caused him some worry, naturally."

Colley nodded along, writing all of this down in his pad.

"The day you arrived here once you were left this house, did you see anything strange or suspicious?"

"Not really. The neighbor to the right over there, who I assume was Tristen Sands, went out somewhere when I moved in. Came back with some shopping bags. Met his brother Duncan the next morning on the beach. That's about it."

"I see. So nothing else has happened?"

"Um... Yeah? I guess? I've been having to... Clear out Jack's things, and store the important stuff since I moved in here. That's all I've really been doing here. Trying to get by."

He nodded. "You don't have a job?"

"I used to, but... I don't need one anymore. And it's... Kind of not great. I don't really feel like there's a point to anything I do anymore, really."

He pocketed his pad, looked at me and cupped his hands together. "I believe I know of a way to change that, Ms. Sleek."

_John Richmond_

Officer Banker and I were sitting at a table inside of some Chinese place, watching Sands inside the building on the other side, an inviting looking café. He was sitting there, having a coffee and doing something on his iPad.

"Sands never seemed like someone who'd have an iPad or anything like that before." Banker grunted out next to me. I quietly gulped.

"Yeah. Strange. But what's stranger is that he has hardly moved at all during this whole time. Haven't you noticed that?"

"He's ordered another coffee here three times in the past thirty minutes, and went to the bathroom once. What about that says 'Not moving much' to you, exactly?"

"I mean, yeah, but other than that he just seems too... patient. Like he's waiting for something. Why else would he choose to go out to a cafe just to drink coffee and use his pad?"

"Fair enough." The older officer said. I felt like wiping a sweat off my brow after just talking to this man.

It was then that I heard distress coming from behind us. I turned my head while Banker remained watching Sands carefully.

A fat businessman had collapsed on the floor, spazzing. One of the Asian waiters ran up worriedly, trying to help, calling out for someone to call an ambulance.

"Something just happened, Banker." I said. The man had seized moving, and the waiter shakily tried to at least turn the man over, so that if he was still breathing he wouldn't choke. He did so, and a quiet 'pop' could be heard, a think covering of white powder spreading on the floor and the waiter's legs, a package having burst in the man's suit.

"...Cocaine?!" I muttered. The waiter was startled at first, but moved on to try and find a pulse on the man. His distress grew as he moved his hands about his neck and arms to no avail.

"Investigate it, Richmond. I'll keep watching Sands." Banker grunted out, still having not even turned around.

"Right." I gulped and rushed over. "Step aside, police." I called out to the waiter, who happily stepped back. I saw that there were already people calling an ambulance, several other patrons watching everything go down with terror in their eyes, having come here for a nice meal, not to see a death with their own eyes.

I crouched down next to the man, and checked his pulse myself. Nothing. The man was dead. His skin was red, and there was a trail of drool coming down from the corner of his mouth, his eyes still wide open. Sights like these used to make me feel nauseous, not so much anymore.

I dipped my little finger into the powder covering on the ground and carefully placed the tiniest amount on the tip of my tongue, then immediately spat it out. Yes, that was cocaine alright.

What was this all about? Was Sands responsible for this death as well? If so, why would be so close that we would be here and suspect him, yet too far to see his own work? And why did he kill this particular man? Could it be that this man was somehow connected to Duncan and his drug trial?

I stood back up as the emergency medical team and our backup arrived. Or, rather, the police simply arrived. What we were doing here wasn't official police work, after all.

I stepped back and let both the doctors and the police do their work, flashing my badge to the officers before heading back to Banker.

"Has Sands moved?" I asked.

"Yes." Banker responded. "He's joined the crowd gathering around the restaurant."

_Sicarius_

It had happened. The first of five was gone, and how easily. Well, it wasn't that easy, I suppose. But oh so simple, if you had the right connections. And thanks to Krieg, I had those connections.

Yet again I had to force myself not to grin. The two officers from the day I gained control, Banker and Richmond, stepped out of the restaurant. I put on my best innocent, scared onlooker expression for them.

Banker walked right up to me and squinted. "And what are you doing here, Sands?" He asked in his gravelly voice.

"What? I just, uh, was just at the café over there, waiting for my dad... Wh-what happened? Oh God, is it another murder?" I asked. Some of the people around us started murmuring; one man straight up panicked and ran off. How brilliant.

"We do not know it is a murder yet." Richmond, the younger officer said.

Banker nodded. "But the fact you're here... You must just attract disaster, Sands." He said, turned around and walked away. I widened my eyes and clenched my teeth in 'fear'. Richmond watched me a moment longer before following the older officer. Once they were out of sight, I turned around and went back to the café. I checked my watch. Still had 10 minutes before Tristen's father had promised to show up. Excellent.

I tossed a single look back to see a large, covered up figure get rolled out on a stretcher and pushed into an ambulance. That certainly confirmed it.

One name off of Sicarius' list.

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

_Sicarius_

I returned to my seat at a table in the café, making sure to maintain a certain expression of shock and fear in case the police decided to stop by here, watch me, or later speak with the other patrons.

I quietly ordered another cup of coffee, and waited for Tristen's father. I didn't consider him my own father, of course. I was not born or made what I was by a single person related to Tristen. I was born in his subconsciousness, created by his inner desire to right the wrongs of this world in ways he himself could never commit himself to. Murder.

The man I had just killed, one Daniel Stone, had certainly deserved it. A corrupt business official, working for a lawyer company, one which thrived on the suffering of the common man. He was a small figure in the company, yet it had been reported he may be involved in drug trafficking as well, responsible for lives ruined by the substances along with those ruined by his work.

The world was better off without him. Removing him from it was a positive thing. An action with a positive outcome cannot be a negative action. _That_ is my philosophy.

Getting cyanide was more expensive than difficult. Krieg had provided me with several anonymous contacts when I took up his initial offer. One of said contacts could provide various chemicals, drugs and poisons for me. While he himself was the scum of the Earth, one I would enjoy to rid the world of myself, he was still a useful contact to have. Though it wouldn't have been that hard to get cyanide on my own, I was better off limiting the amount of people who see my face and hear my voice when it came to this deal.

I had slipped a 500 milligram pill along with a 500 dollar bill to one of the waiters. Said waiter then slipped the pill into the man's meal as it was brought to him. 300 milligrams were usually enough, and the former standard for spy plane pilot suicide pills, but I had to be sure of this one. 500 mg should be enough with the amount of food in his stomach.

I sipped my coffee, and placed it down as Tristen's father stepped in. A middle aged man, who had certainly put on some weight during our coma. Dark head of hair, thick moustache, and a big smile on his face.

He waved and went over to my table, sitting down in front of me. "Hey, son! What's with the long face? Something the matter?"

Good. So my appearance showed what I had intended it to. I gulped rather theatrically.

"H-hey, dad. It's just... It's been stressful, and something happened in the restaurant over there."

"Oh, yeah, I saw the police cars. This have anything to do with what Duncan told me about?" He asked.

I shook my head, looking down. "I don't know, but the officers from that case were there... I think they're still suspicious of me."

"Well that's just ridiculous. You're innocent. I know my boy, and my boy ain't no criminal." He said, waving his arm around dramatically. Yes, this was his father Richard Sands alright. A literal drama queen.

"I know, I know, but they did have some evidence. I actually thought I could be the killer back then, back when I couldn't remember so much. I know I'm innocent now, but I don't know how to prove it to the police."

"That's a shame. Well, if there's any way I can help you and Duncan with anything, let me know. Waiter, get me a coffee!" He called out to a young man passing by. He scoffed and went over to the counter to put in the order. To be fair, Richard had been quite rude. Not intentionally so, but the fact still stood.

"How have things been with you two, anyway?" He asked.

"Well, we... Do you know about Duncan and his... Situation?"

He sighed and nodded sadly. "Yes, I know. I am working on finding him a job again, though it's been hard. Few proper work places wish to employ someone like that, those that do are generally shady themselves, or simply don't fit his standards."

He still has standards? Oh, whatever. I nodded along like Sands would. "Right. I could try and see if my manager can find any job for him."

"Oh, that could work!" He grabbed the coffee from the waiter as it was brought to him and tossed a crumpled up five into his hands. "Keep the change, buddy." He said and took a gulp of the hot beverage. The man rolled his eyes and went back to the counter.

"And how have you been, dad? Duncan's already told me about your new job. He also mentioned you might've, uh, found someone?"

He laughed. "A gentleman never kisses and tells, my son."

I arched a brow. "I think that only applies to people I would know. And college."

"You'll find out soon enough, when I introduce her to you all."

"Fair enough." I finished my own coffee. "How long are you planning to stay in Malibu?"

"Oh, I don't know, probably some while. I love the weather here. People are generally nice. When they're not murderers at least, eh?"

I frowned a bit, though inwardly I appreciated the humor. I enjoyed it, even. There was a delicious irony to him saying those words to me, the outwardly nice, friendly person who actually _was_ a murderer. Beautiful.

Five minutes later he already had to go, or at least he said he did. I looked out the window to see that the crowd had almost dispersed by now, the police still there. One car had been parked further away, though. It immediately caught my attention, as it had parked somewhat near the crime scene, in the area usually reserved for police vehicles, yet it didn't bear any such markings and was still a fair bit away from the other cars.

I continued to sit in the café, carefully observing the vehicle while pretending to be calming myself.

_Michael Colley_

Banker, Richmond and I were seated in Winston's car outside of the Chinese place 'Chang's Cuisine', though the 'cuisine' part could be debatable. The man, who had died, Daniel Stone, had been brought away in an ambulance already. From the description provided by Richmond and how quickly the death set in, I could only assume it had been cyanide.

Cyanide was not hard to come by, and was used for various tasks and labors related to metalworking, cement mixing, tanning leather, so on and so forth. This didn't give us much, but if we could prove that Sands did, in fact, have access to cyanide somehow, it would make convicting him much easier. Of course, this was based on the assumption that Sands actually was the killer.

"I find it kind of strange," Richmond said, "that Sands would watch his work from afar like that. Why not be here if he wanted it confirmed, and why not just stay away if he didn't need confirmation? I'm not saying he didn't do it, of course. Pretty damn obvious he did. Just seems kind of weird."

"He knew that he had succeeded the moment the ambulance and the police arrived. He didn't need to see the body; he just needed to see the commotion surrounding it. And it's not out of the question that he really did need to meet his father." I answered.

Banker nodded. "A man was just with him. Description matches that of Sands' father, Richard Sands. We can't know who chose the location, though."

"Probably Sands, if he had to be here." Richmond said.

"True, but it's better to not operate on 'probably' or 'maybe'." I responded.

Both of the officers nodded. "Winston find anything suspicious on Julia Sleek?" Banker asked.

"No. She should be safe for us to use."

Richmond looked between us with a confused expression. "Uh, wait, am I missing something? Use for what?"

"We intend to use her to spy on Sands. She has agreed to help us, having suspicion about him herself. Apparently Jack Sleek had left a message for her telling her not to trust him." I said, "She should be visiting him this evening. Winston is already posted outside Sands' house, and will remain there for the entirety of the visit. Officer Banker will replace him once Ms. Sleek returns to her home."

"Alright. And what can I do?"

"You and I will go back to looking for clues in the older case files. I still believe that Sands had practiced before. The first murder was all too well thought out and clean in the most horrific sense."

I looked out the toned window again, and saw Tristen stepping out of the café. He hailed a cab, and got in, driving off back towards Malibu. "He's left the building. Time for us to head back."

_Julia Sleek_

I rang the doorbell to Sands' home, and pushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. I had actually bothered with my appearance somewhat this morning, having put on a small amount of makeup, mainly just eyeliner and lipstick. I had a short red dress and had combed my hair, too. It made me seem... girly. I had mixed feelings about that.

On one hand there was a kind of influx of positive emotions. I felt prettier, more social and confident. On the other hand, I didn't really want to be seen as a girly girl. Ever.

Duncan opened the door and blinked in surprise. "Oh, hey, Julia." He greeted.

"Hi. I'm finally done unpacking back at my place, so I felt like getting to know my neighbors better! Unless you mind, of course."

I then proceeded to flutter my eyelashes. While it made me slightly sick, it was still effective. Always was.

"Oh, uh, sure. Come on in." He said and stepped aside from the doorway. I walked in, glancing around. Nothing suspicious so far. It looked like any other beach house - similar to Jack's, actually.

"Tristen should be home soon. He went out to see dad in town. Don't know if he'll be stopping by, too. Can I offer you a drink?" Duncan said.

"Oh, um, sure, thank you. Water would really do just fine, though."

"Alright. Make yourself at home." He said and stepped into what I assumed was the kitchen. I quietly sat down on one of the couches, folding my hands in my lap, keeping my legs close together. I kind of hated dresses. It was like wearing a loose bag on your legs. Way too open.

I sighed and tried to relax at least a small amount. I didn't want to seem too suspicious or worried to them. Still, I jumped slightly as I heard the front door open and close, someone stepping in.

I gulped, and looked back.

 


	20. Chapter 20

 

_Sicarius_

I stepped through my front door and closed it behind me, then looked to the left to see if Duncan was in the living room. To my surprise I saw a young woman looking back at me, wide-eyed.

"Hello. Who are you, exactly?" I asked in a calm tone.

She hesitated a moment before responding. "I-I'm Julia, Julia Sleek. I moved in next doors just a couple of days. A-are you Tristen?"

I nodded, and smiled at her. "Yes, my brother Duncan already said he met you on the beach. A pleasure to meet you, Julia." I said and went over, taking a seat on the couch as well. She scooted away just slightly, probably hoping I wouldn't notice. I did.

So there was clearly a reason for her not to trust me. Whatever it was, it was reason for me to worry. If she knew anything, if Jack had left any message for her, if she would tell the police... It could definitely prove troublesome.

Duncan stepped into the room with two glasses of water. "Oh, hey, bro! I see you already met Julia." He said.

"Hey. And yes, I did."

I watched as he handed her one of the glasses and sat on the other side of the couch. She didn't move away from him. Either this woman felt comfortable and close to Tristen's brother, or it wasn't just certain social awkwardness, and she truly was wary of Sands. And I doubted she would get close to my brother so quickly, unless they connected based on the fact that both of them have deep personal issues to deal with.

So that meant she was a problem.

"So, how have you been adjusting to this place, Julia?" I asked, picking up the thermos of coffee and cup from the coffee table. I poured the coffee in as she spoke.

"Oh, um, it's been... Strange, I guess. I haven't gone out much, if, um, at all. Had to clean out the house a lot and get moved in." She said, stuttering at times.

"I see. Well, welcome to the neighborhood. I... Hope that what happened doesn't ruin your perception of Malibu. It's a beautiful place." I said, taking a sip of coffee.

She nodded a bit hesitantly. "Um, yeah, it is. How long have you two been living here?"

"I moved in ten years ago, back in the prime of my career. Duncan started crashing here a couple of days ago."

Duncan nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "I should be able to find my own place soon."

"Great." _Liar._ I knew better than anyone that he wouldn't get out of this on his own. He'll either need me to find him a job or dad to lend him cash. And either way it wouldn't last.

He'd fall back on drugs. I could see that from a mile away. Duncan never was of a strong character, yet Tristen continued to have the delusional belief that he might still right his wrongs, and get back on track with his life. I didn't.

And yet Tristen would try and help him out. As much as I hated having to act like that fool, I didn't have much of a choice at this point. I could either keep up the act for now and lower suspicion, or start acting out of character and make Colley and his help suspect me even more.

"I think I can help you with that, Duncan, but about that later. What do you do, Julia?" I asked nonchalantly.

" Oh, um. I used to be a dancer, but I don't... Really need to work anymore. I have cash... Saved up."

'Cash saved up'. Meaning that she got a hefty inheritance from Jack. He didn't have that much money, though, so it was likely someone else had died and left her money.

As for 'being a dancer'? Dancing was a thing of passion. People chose to be dancers because they liked to dance, and wouldn't stop doing it if they didn't need to do it for the money. She hadn't been a dancer, at least not the kind you'd be proud of being.

"I see." I simply responded. She was holding secrets, whether from the both of us or just from me, I couldn't know yet. But one thing was certain.

Sooner or later, I'll have to remove her.

Once the woman left, having shyly said bye to Duncan, almost ignoring my farewell, I sat back down on the couch, as did Duncan.

"So, bro, you said you could help me?" He asked enthusiastically.

"Yes, I think I could. Even after all that happened, you were still a good actor. Good enough, at least. So I was thinking of asking my new manager if he could find you some roles. Minor stuff in commercials, or in my work. Something to get you back into the business, at least." I said, and Duncan's smile grew as I spoke. He hugged me.

"Thank you, bro! I Knew I could count on you when my life went to shit, heh." He said. I patted him on the back, rather disgusted by how much he had relied on Tristen simply pulling him out of his own mess.

"I still haven't spoken to him," I said, "But I will later tomorrow. I'm going to the studio in the evening."

For once, I actually was. The manager hadn't asked for me to record anything just yet, as I had told him I needed a bit more practice first. Because I did. I still didn't know whether or not I could play any instruments or act the way Tristen did. If I couldn't, I had to learn. Outwardly I had to remain the same innocent, foolish artist.

And thus, I had to practice at the studio. Something as simple as Duncan hearing me fail at playing my usual instruments could end up being my downfall. And I wasn't ready to fall yet.

_Roy Winston_

Julia Sleek had remained in Sands' estate for about an hour. Not a long visit, but sill a worrying one. It was likely she was sitting there in the den of a murderer. I didn't like it.

So I was relieved when she stepped out of the building, hurrying down the driveway and to her own home. I got out of my car, which I had parked on the other side of the road from Sands' place.

I rang the doorbell, and moments later the door clicked open. I stepped inside to see Julia hugging herself, shivering slightly.

"Are you alright, Ms. Sleek?" I asked, a bit concerned for the poor woman's health.

She nodded slightly. "Y-yeah. I'm fine. But... I think you people really are right."

"About Sands?" I carefully placed a hand on her shoulder and lead her towards the living room.

"Yes... He was just so... calm. After all that's happened to him, after all the death, he just had no problem making small talk. I guess he could just have thick skin, but... I would never trust a person who showed so little emotion like that."

"Right. Were you able to bring the device in?"

She nodded again, and dug around her collar for a moment, before pulling out a miniature microphone, a memory card attached to it by a thin wire. She handed it over to me.

"Good. And the other one?"

"Dropped it behind the couch cushion when I got there." She smiled slightly.

"Great work. We'll analyze your recording and keep listening in on him, but I'm going to need you to tell, in detail, what happened during your visit. Every detail could prove crucial, is what Colley likes to say."

"Right. Well, when I got there, only Duncan was home. Tristen had gone out somewhere. He came home soon after I arrived, literal moments after I had placed down the bug."

"Lucky." I commented.

"Very. He then started idle chit chat. Sat down next to me on the couch. I moved away from him, and I think he noticed. Only after did I realize how suspicious it was... Sorry."

"That's fine. You just met him. Being shy and unfamiliar with him was reasonable. What happened next?" I asked as I began to make notes in a pad. Colley had asked that we note down physically anything we deem important. While being secretive about the investigation was a concern, it was more important we don't forget anything and, in the end, solve the case.

"Duncan returned to the living room. He had gone to the kitchen to get both of us a glass of water. Sands had a coffee, and we just... chatted. It was weird. Sitting next to a murderer like that. Having to act so casual around him." She shuddered.

"Right. Anything suspicious happen while you were there?" I asked, my pen flowing across the page in front of me.

"Not that I can think of, no. I'm sorry if I haven't been very useful."

"On the contrary, Ms. Sleek. Getting the bugs in his home alone is worth so much for our investigation. Thank you." I stood up, putting my pad in my coat. "I'll be going back to the station now. Officer Banker will replace me in looking over your home."

"Okay..." She said and sighed, leaning back in her seat.

I glanced back briefly, then went to go out of the house.

_Sicarius_

I watched the man exit Sleek's home and head to his car. The same car which had been parked by the restaurant earlier today.

This wasn't good. Not only was there someone watching me, they had also gotten in contact with her. She could be used to get close to me, either directly or via Duncan. She could spy on me, gather information... Or leave bugs or tracking devices in my house. Shit.

I watched the man go over to his car and pull out his phone as he got in. A minute later, he drove off. Someone would replace him. If they were watching me, this meant I most likely had a window of time when nobody was.

I rushed out of my room, down the stairs, through the front door. I cursed myself for not having surveillance back up yet, as I could easily see where exactly she had left a bug, if she truly had. Duncan had gone to sleep a little while ago, and I hoped that he wouldn't wake up while I was outside.

I searched around the door and driveway for about five minutes. I found nothing, yet didn't feel relieved about it. I merely hadn't found anything, that didn't mean there wasn't anything. Matter of fact, I'd have felt better if I actually had found something.

I hurried back inside before the person who would be undoubtedly watching my home next got here. I thought for a moment before heading towards the living room.

This was the most likely place for her to have hidden something. Knowing how when I got home Duncan was bringing her water, and that it wasn't likely he would have left her without at least bringing her to the living room, I could only assume she didn't have a chance to hide anything anywhere else before I arrived. I couldn't be sure, but I didn't have much to go on for now; I would conduct a more thorough search the next day.

I looked through the shelves, chairs and couches. And, sure enough, I found the bug behind one of the couch cushions, a small box with a microphone attached to it.. I smirked. Was this all they had? While I wouldn't count on it, I wouldn't have been surprised if it was.

I put the tiny microphone down on the couch momentarily and dug out my army knife, one I had purchased just recently, realizing the potential usefulness of having a blade and toolset on hand.

I carefully screwed open the box and checked the wiring and circuitry. I took my time assessing what was what, exactly, and then used my knife to make a cut in one of the wires. Not cutting it completely, but damaging it to the point at which it became useless. I screwed the microphone shut again and placed it back where it was before. They would now continue to get a feed from the microphone, but the sound would be incomplete, corrupted. I could speak to Tristen's brother over morning coffee or order the death of the president of the United States, it would sound all the same to them.

Feeling somewhat accomplished of my work, a step ahead of those looking to convict me, I went back upstairs. I hadn't put off a second search tomorrow, of course. There could still be more bugs around the house.

But they wouldn't help them.

 


	21. Chapter 21

 

_Michael Colley_

Officer Winston returned to our temporary investigative HQ soon after Banker had left. He placed a bugging device on the desk next to me along with his pad. "Julia got in and left the second device behind the couch in the living room successfully." He informed.

I glanced at him. "Good. We have ears on Sands now." I looked back at my screen. "I have been listening to the feed from Sands' home for the past hour, since I noticed the bug had been set. I haven't heard anything yet. I assume both of them have gone to sleep by now. How did Ms. Sleek's visit go?"

"Rather plainly, I'd say. She's a bit shaken up from being so close to a murderer, but other than that, things went excellently." He responded. "Find anything in those old files yet?"

"We have a few murders we could suspect were done by Sands, though knowing now he can utilize poisons and chemicals to kill we might as well have nothing. He doesn't have a distinct calling card." I said and picked up Winston's pad. "We will need to work more with what we have now rather than continue searching for answers in the past."

"Right. I have a contact in the slightly shadier side of pharmaceutical and chemical product market. I can speak with him to see if he can find out anything about where Sands could have gotten that cyanide."

"I suspect it will be pointless, knowing how easy cyanide is to come by. But it's still worth a shot." I flipped through the pages on the pad, and paused. "Is everything you have written here accurate to what Ms. Sleek told you?"

"To the smallest detail, like you asked."

"Then all shadows of doubts can be cleared. The man living in Sands' home is not him, and is the murderer."

Winston looked at me rather confusedly.

"And why's that?" He asked.

"Because Tristen Sands doesn't drink coffee."

As Winston opened his mouth to question my statement, my headphones began to crackle and release static. I pulled them off and looked at them for a moment, then looked back up at the older detective.

"He's found he bug."

_Sicarius_

I performed my search of all the rooms in my house the first thing next morning, making out to be cleaning to Duncan. I checked every bookshelf, cupboard, chair and lamp, no other bugs in the entire building. Good.

A car was still parked outside, someone watching me from inside of it. I wondered who was investigating me. Was it the police? I had my doubts about it, but it wasn't out of the question. If it was the police, it meant that detective Colley was most likely still on the case. That was both good and bad.

Good in the sense that I could continue to predict his moves. He wasn't as clever as he thought he was, and if it wasn't for how perceptive he was, I'd already be off the hook.

But he was still a good detective, and if he figured out how I was predicting his moves, he just might do something I couldn't predict. Bu I didn't have to fear my life because of him. He was not one to hastily decide something as foolish as to murder me.

As I finished wiping off the living room bookcase, looking behind the last row of books to see if anything was hidden behind it, I heard footsteps coming from the stairs.

"Morning, bro." Duncan called out as he walked towards the kitchen.

"Good morning." I responded, "Sleep well?"

"Yeah. Had trouble falling asleep at first for some reason. Something kept waking me up, don't know what."

I placed down the cleaning spray bottle in my hand next to the roll of paper towels on the floor. So he had heard me last night, but wasn't able to tell what the sound was. Good. That was about the best I could have hoped for.

I took the towels, broom and other cleaning supplies back to the broom closet in the hall, and went into the kitchen. Duncan was preparing himself breakfast - a cup of coffee, jam and toast. His hands shook slightly as he poured his coffee in, and he stopped to scratch his wrist. These were signs of withdrawal, meaning he truly hadn't had any coke for some time. Though they were appearing a bit late. I suspected he had still taken some behind his brother's back. How rude.

I got a cup of coffee myself. "I'll be heading off in an hour to the studio. Do you need anything while I'm out?" I said and took a sip from my cup.

"Nah, bro. I'm good. Think I might go see dad later myself. I need to get out some as well, you know."

I nodded, and smirked to myself as I turned the other way to put away my now already empty cup. There it was. It was rather obvious how things would go now. He would go see dad, and he would speak with him. He'll ask for money. He'll relapse.

I almost broke out laughing. Oh how pointless it all would have seemed for Tristen, how horrible his brother's actions. But for me? For me they meant one thing.

I had another variable to manipulate in my plan.

 

I arrived at the studio and headed in without issue, having the key and all. I stopped at the foyer, looking back out through the tinted glass of the entrance door. Sure enough, the car had followed me. The driver parked a decent distance away, probably hoping I wouldn't notice it. Clearly, I did.

I went over to the recording room, Tristen's instruments already there, ready to be played. I picked up the guitar, and tuned it. It took longer than it would have taken him, but I still could do that much.

And I could still play, too, albeit a bit slower and less enthusiastically. That could have easily been explained by my head trauma, but I needed to get better if I wanted to have a proper, legitimate, non-suspicious source of income. I desperately needed this contract.

So I had to practice, and practice I did.

_Julia Sleek_

I was on a walk on the beach, having left my shoes on the porch, letting the hot sand flow between my toes. It was a pleasant, calming feeling. I smiled to myself, finally able to relax and enjoy some time in the sun. But as I looked over at Sands' home, those feelings immediately dissipated.

While having essentially the same exterior as any other house, just looking at it made me feel so... Frightened. Weak. I couldn't wait for the day when that monster would get what he deserved.

I saw that Duncan had left the house, standing on the driveway. He seemed hesitant as he glanced all around. He didn't even notice me, even though he appeared to be looking for something.

He start hurriedly walking down the road, passing my home. I blinked, then rushed over to collect my shoes and follow him.

It didn't take much to determine this wasn't just some regular old walk. He was purposefully heading somewhere, and I didn't know where. I felt scared, almost terrified of where he could have been going, but I kept following. For Jack.

He eventually stopped in front of a house further into Malibu. He hesitated, but eventually stepped up to the door and rang the doorbell. I couldn't see who opened it, but Duncan soon disappeared out of sight as he entered, the door closing behind him.

I bit my lip, standing on the other side of the road. I thought to myself if I should just leave now. Just go away before I saw anything I shouldn't see, or he noticed me and inevitably let Tristen find out. I could end up killed. That was the one thing Jack wouldn't have wanted to happen, that's for sure.

But I was compelled to stay. To see what happened next, whatever it was. I was part of the investigation now, after all. If Duncan was involved in what Tristen had done, I had to know either way.

So I looked around to make sure nobody was watching and hid behind some bushes along the side of the road, watching the house.

About 30 minutes passed. I was considering going home, when the door opened again, and Duncan hurried out, storing something in his jacket. He looked around once more and hailed a cab. I was not expecting this, but I wasn't going to let him get away now. As the cab set off, I rushed to hail my own.

"Follow that cab!" I said as I got into the back seat. The driver was an old Hispanic man with a receding hairline.

"It sounds like you are some kind of investigator, eh, signora?" He released a wheezing laugh as he started to follow along the cab ahead of us. I gulped. Never liked cabs and such. They made me feel vulnerable, someone else in control of where we were actually going.

The fact that the ride led into a rundown part of Los Angeles didn't help. The cab ahead of us stopped in front of what appeared to be some kind of the-very-lowest-income housing area. Trash everywhere, homeless and jobless people walking around looking grim, several windows boarded up. I shuddered at the sight, equal parts upset that people had to live in such horrible conditions, and scared from the people raised in these conditions.

Duncan got out of his car and walked up to the door of the building, knocked and waited. My driver turned to face me.

"You gonna get out here or what, signora? I wouldn't recommend it, ah. Bad neighborhood."

I gulped. "I-I know it is. I have to stay here for a while longer, though. Can I pay extra and, uh... Just keep the meter running, please? I don't want to go out myself."

"Sure thing. Wouldn't force a pretty lady like you to go out where all these animals are at."

I scoffed. "They're not animals. They've just clearly not been treated well by life, or the world around them."

"Same goes for many animals, signora." He said, wheezing again. He turned to face forward again, turning on the radio. It was some news report about global events. A flood in South America, an act of terror in Europe, a civil war in Africa... My discomfort grew as I listened to story after about horrific event after horrific event. I could feel my nausea growing. I wanted to go out and get fresh air, but I doubted I could find any in this neighborhood.

Eventually, Duncan stepped out of the house. He immediately ran into a nearby alleyway. I gulped.

"C-can you drive up in front of that alley, so I c-could see in i-it?" I asked.

"Sure thing." The cab driver responded and did just that. As I looked into the alley, I saw Duncan leaning against one of the building's walls, a hand up to his face. There was a small plastic bag with a dirty white powder in his other hand.

"...Please take me away from here." I told the driver, who snickered as he complied.

So that's what this was about. Duncan had gone out to buy cocaine. I shook my head to myself. I knew he was a failure from how he had described himself living with his brother, but I hadn't expected that it was that bad.

I wasn't sure who was it he was visiting before, and I didn't really care. I would tell about what I had seen to the detectives. They can figure it out.

I simply didn't have the strength or willingness to bother with it now.

_Michael Colley_

Duncan Sands had gone back to his old habits, then. Unsurprising, really. It wasn't an easy thing to drop, and knowing how he had Tristen and their father to fall back on probably made him not too bothered about going broke from his addiction.

I had just received three phone calls. The first was from Richmond, telling me what Julia Sleek had found out. The second was from Banker, who had followed Tristen to his studio and was waiting outside of it now. And the final call from Winston, who had been put in charge of investigating the murder of Daniel Stone, the businessman and drug dealer Richmond and Banker saw die at the restaurant.

Things were slowly beginning to fall into place and shape up, but not fast enough. We didn't have enough solid, physical evidence to convict Sands. If we tried to now, we were bound to fail, especially since we had the confession made by Demire to go up against.

I had to think outside of the box now. It was clear that my adversary was no fool. He knew my methods. He could predict my moves. He could always be one step ahead of my plans if he so wished.

I locked my fingers together, and rested my chin on them, listening to the distorted, useless feed from Sands' home. I thought for a moment. What could I do to outsmart Sands?

And it came to me, and it was rather obvious.

I needed someone other than me to do it.

_Roy Winston_

I was sitting in my office, going through files regarding the Daniel Stone case. Getting put in charge of this investigation came as a very pleasant surprise for our team. This meant we could utilize the rest of the police force and its resources to conduct our search without needlessly alerting Sands.

As I was reaching for my phone to call one of the men I had sent out to keep an eye on Liam Reed, owner of a firm that happened to be a rival of Stone's company, one of the main suspects we openly had, when it rang.

I furrowed a brow and picked it up.

"Detective Roy Winston." I said.

"We have another murder, detective."

I stood up. "Where and who?"

"Outside Reed & Ross law firm. Liam Reed's car has been blown up, and we believe we've caught the culprit.

 

I stepped out of my car, and examined the scene. A crowd had gathered around a widely taped off area in front of the business building. Small pieces of metal from the car laid strewn along the ground. The charred carcass of the car was sitting in the middle of the road. I assumed the corpse had already been taken away, as I didn't see any sign of it, and doubted that there were enough explosives to completely destroy it.

I walked up to one of the officers on the scene. "Where's the man you caught?" I asked.

"Inside, sir." The officer responded. "And he's going nuts. Had to taze him and everything."

"How'd you find out he did it?"

"Genius was just sitting over there holding the detonator. One of the patrons managed to connect the dots. Police was called soon after."

I nodded, and walked towards the building. I doubted this was the killer for multiple reasons.

This didn't seem like Sands at all. Explosions are imprecise and could cost the lives of innocents. And so far he had appeared like he targeted his exact targets with a certain purpose. Sands would definitely not sit in the open and activate the explosives so openly, and he would definitely not act out. This was not him.

Inside, amongst the neatly furnished foyer with simple, aesthetically pleasing red velvet couches and glass tables, stood the culprit, actually gnashing his teeth while being held down by several officers. Colley was standing in front of them, a hand on his chin.

I walked over. "Have you gotten anything out of him?" I asked.

"I was ordered to do it! You're looking for Krieg! Krieg, you need Krieg!" The man shouted out repeatedly.

"That's about all we have gotten from him." Colley responded, tapping his chin. "And I'm inclined to believe that he truly was ordered to do it. He doesn't seem like someone who could acquire explosives on his own, or benefit anything from killing an owner of a law firm. We found an ID with a matching photo on him."

He pulled said card out and handed it to me. "Leroy Winter. We have anything on him?"

"Yes, it didn't take long to check. Previously convicted for petty theft and drug abuse. No violent crimes prior to this one. Jobless. Wasn't facing any trials. I'm inclined to believe this was contract work."

"We need to take him back to station, then. See if we can get anything else out of him."

Colley rubbed his chin slightly. "Mr. Winter, could you calm down, please? We may be able to avoid detaining you if you tell us more about this 'Krieg'."

I watched him, not interfering. I had long since learned that Colley knew what he was doing. Always.

The man quit snarling momentarily to look up at Colley, going quiet.

"How did you come in contact with Krieg?" The young detective asked.

The man swallowed excess saliva before responding. "I was... Trying to get my doze. Jimmy, the man who dealt me my stuff, he said to me, he said I needed to pay up. And I told him I couldn't, that I was broke, I had nothing. He then directed me to Krieg. S-said he could get me a job. Something to get me quick cash to pay him with. I didn't know at the time I would kill someone, I didn't know, I just needed to get money..."

Colley remained stoic as the man spoke. "Alright. How did you contact him?"

"Jimmy gave me a number, it changes every other day. I had to find time to call him each day leading up to this to get directions and what the next number to call is. After this money would arrive to my doorstep. I, I mean it would arrive to Jimmy's doorstep to pay my debt. That's, uh, that's what he said to me on the phone." His head hung low. "And now I've killed a man and I'm going to jail."

"We can't be certain of that yet." Colley responded, "Can you give us an address where we could see this Jimmy? If we find Krieg, we will be able to heavily reduce your punishment, Mr. Winter."

He looked back up with a certain amount of hope in his eyes. Colley certainly know how to use his words. "Really?" The poor bastard asked.

"Yes. Do you have an address?"

He nodded enthusiastically. I was impressed. I had thought it would take a proper interrogation to get anything out of this man. But Colley had proven me wrong right here. His voice made people talk. To trust him.

And it would help us find the bastard behind these killings.

_Krieg_

Winter had failed. It was my fault, of course. Shouldn't have trusted a fool with such a job. But I had to send a message.

Right now my best hope was that Sicarius would deal with his second target in time. His own secrecy relied on it, after all.

But the best I could do for now was do what anyone in my public position would do.

Mourn over the loss of a good friend and business partner.

_Sicarius_

I placed down the guitar and looked at my watch. 16:47. 13 minutes until time runs out for my next target. Time to get moving.

I collected the few things I had brought with me – my jacket, phone and wallet – and walked out of the studio, locking the door behind me. The car was still parked where it was previously. Excellent.

I began to calmly head down the pathway, towards the more fancy part of LA. I purposefully walked slowly. I didn't need to rush. Matter of fact, it was better for me not to.

I didn't look back, using reflections from windshields and rear view mirrors of parked cars to keep an eye on the one following me. And it definitely was, keeping a safe distance away, probably believing I hadn't noticed yet.

I made my way to a rather eloquent, expensive restaurant not too far from here. I checked my watch. 16:59.

A grin crept up on my face. I watched the seconds tick away for a moment before stepping into the building, certain my job was complete. My second target removed.

And just in time for my date with Burrel.

_Michael Colley_

Banker and I got out of the car in front of a rundown apartment building in a bad part of town. Boarded up windows, filth, and men giving us shady looks as we stopped here. And not without reason- while I was dressed in casual clothes, Banker was on duty, and had his uniform on. Needless to say, the cops weren't welcome in this neighborhood.

Winston had brought Winter to the station for a more thorough interrogation, but we had already gotten Jimmy's address. He then replaced Banker watching Sands. Meanwhile Richmond was dealing with the investigation on his own for now. I had allowed him to do what he sees fit so long as it doesn't interfere with our work. I needed someone other than me calling some of the shots to throw Sands off, and Richmond was about as far away from me as I could get.

"Stay here and keep an eye on the area, Banker." I said to him.

"Sure that's a good idea? This is a bad neighborhood."

"Which is why someone should watch the car, don't you think? And I can keep myself safe. You know that." I said and went up to the door. I glanced back to make sure Banker was in the car before knocking. A few moments passed. I checked the time on my watch. 16:51. He should still be 'open for business'.

There was the sound of something moving inside for a moment, then the door opened. In front of me stood a man in a dirty jean jacket with a dirty grey T-shirt under it, a pair of tattered jeans on his legs and a green beanie hat on his head. He immediately met the expectations you would have for what a drug dealer might look like.

"Jimmy?" I asked.

"Yeah, what?" He responded in a hushed, wheezing voice.

"Buddy of mine, Leroy, directed me to you. Said you got a guy who could, uh, get me some work?" I said the last words in a quieter tone, leaning closer to him and almost covering my mouth with my hand.

He squinted at me. "Why not just ask him how to contact this 'guy'?"

"I did, fucker's lost his number or something. Says he can't give one to me, a least." I had adjusted my voice to better represent a druggie looking for a job to afford blow, my usual calm tones replaced with sporadic, almost angry ones.

He watched me for a moment, probably looking for signs of lying. I didn't give him any, sniffling. "Aite, get in here. Can't talk about this shit out here." He said and gestured for me to follow as he walked in. "Shut the door behind you."

I entered and did just that. Inside was an almost entirely unfurnished building, no wallpapers or paint on the walls, a smell of moisture and mold filling the air. It was a disgusting place for those who had a disgusting habit.

I followed 'Jimmy' into a back room, where an old table sat below a single light bulb, with shaky looking chairs on either side of it.

"What do you need the money for?" He asked as he placed his hands on the table, tapping his fingers against the wood.

"Same thing Leroy needed it for. Got some debts to pay off, you know."

He nodded, and looked down, thinking for a moment. "Alright. Alright, alright, I got you. I can give you the number for the guy, got it right here." He began to dig through his pockets, then looked up briefly. "You hearing that?" He asked.

I listened in. I did, indeed, hear it. A sort of buzzing, or maybe whirring sound coming from behind the man.

"What's on the other side of that wall?" I asked, holding my hand out for the number.

"Nothing, got a back entrance there, but I keep that shit locked and sealed off." He responded, and hesitated to hand me the number.

"Maybe we should get out of here." I suggested, rather worried. I knew Sands could plan out his moves well, and it wouldn't surprise me if he had gotten an explosive in here.

"Are you a cop or somethin'? I ain't leaving this room."

"Do I look like a fucking cop? Just give me the number and I'll get out of here."

"You gonna have to pay me to get this shit." He demanded.

"I already told you. I'm broke and in debt, that's why I need to contact this guy." The noise was starting to seriously worry me now. I could pay him, but I knew that if I reveal to have money, he could very well call it off, or even kill me. I had to play it careful.

"Alright, let's make a deal, then. Twenty percent of what you get from him, you give to me. Sound fair?"

"No, but I don't have a fucking choice, do I?" I didn't like talking like this. Uttering unnecessary swears. But I had made a character, and had to stick to it.

"No." He grinned, revealing a set of uneven, yellowish teeth. "So, what's it gonna be, bud?"

"Fine. You got it. Twenty percent goes to you." I held my hand out once again. He handed it over.

"Pleasure doing business with you." He said, and laughed. "Show me an ID or something so I can find you later."

I placed my hands in my jacket, and was about to pull out my police ID and gun, when the wall behind the man blew open. I instinctively dropped down on the floor, debris and bits of wall and pipe flying across the table. I heard a short, cut off scream, and a thud. As I looked over the table, I saw that there was a decently sized hole in the wall. I could make out the broken gas pipes at the top and bottom of the hole. So that's what had exploded. Damn.

I looked on the ground on the opposite side of the table, and saw Jimmy collapsed, a chunk of pipe stuck in the back of his head. There was no doubt he had died quickly there.

I looked at my hand, the note with the number still clutched in my fist. I hurried out back the way we came, out the front door. Banker was already awaiting me there, people starting to stop and watch, having heard the explosion.

"Did you request backup?" I asked.

He nodded. "As soon as I heard the explosion. Is he dead?"

"Yes. And we have a number now." I said and handed it to him. "If Officer Richmond's made any progress, I believe we can safely say we can bring the rest of the police fully into the investigation by now. We're going to find Krieg and convict Sands without too much issue now. All we have to do is find this man."

_Lee Demire_

I had been brought to the interrogation room again. My court case started tomorrow. Why did they bring me here now? What did they want from me that I hadn't already told them?

They couldn't know the truth. There was no way. I'm a good actress, and Tristen made sure I was perfect. Though I knew I already was perfect to him. And he was perfect for me.

I smiled to myself as I waited in there. After some time had passed, a young man in police uniform stepped in, carrying a file.

"Good day, Ms. Demire. Officer Richmond." He said as he sat down on the chair opposite of me. A bit awkward.

"Hi." I simply responded, smiling at him. I had nothing to fear. I had done my part, and could act however I damn pleased around the cops here.

"Do you have any idea why we've brought you here for an interrogation?"

I shook my head. "Nope. I already confessed in everything, silly. This feels kind of dumb."

"You can quit the act, Ms. Demire. Sands had been caught."

My lip quivered slightly, but I suppressed it. Tristen? Caught? There was no way. I straightened my back slightly and recalled everything Tristen had taught me about lying. I got this.

"What do you mean you caught Tristen? What the hell did you catch him in? He hasn't done anything, not that I know of."

The officer actually _smirked_ , the bastard. "He kept up his killing after you were detained, Ms. Demire. And is being convicted for the murder of one Daniel Stone. It's over."

He placed a file down on the desk and slid it over to my side of the table. It described some case involving a dead business man named Daniel Stone. Died from cyanide poisoning in some restaurant.

I could feel myself starting to sweat. No, there was just no way they'd catch Tristen like that. No way. I had to keep up my act.

"Tristen's not a killer. He wasn't when you put me in here, at least..."

"If you tell us the truth about what happened the night Michelle Bridges died, we can seriously reduce your sentence. Convict you not as a murderer, but as an accomplice.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the officer continued, seemingly actually really invested in his own words. "You hoped to be with Tristen once you got out of prison, once you had served your sentence. But Sands is going away for a long, long time. He'll still be in jail when you get out. Why lengthen the amount of time you spent in prison for no reason?"

I felt my hands shaking under the table and had to control myself to keep them from doing so. "I don't understand..." I said, my voice quivering.

"Tell us who actually killed Bridges, London and Sleek." He spat out.

I felt nauseous. I had only one choice.

Flip out.

I jumped up from my seat and began screaming. "I did it! I fucking did and I enjoyed it! I love the sense of power it gave to me, so I couldn't stop at Bridges! Tristen isn't a murderer, asshole! I am!"

He blinked, having moved back in his seat. Wuss.

He collected the file from the table and straightened his jacket as he got up. "We'll convict Sands, Ms. Demire. You acting like this and doing this 'self sacrifice' bullshit for 'the man you love' won't help anyone." He turned to walk out, but paused and turned to face me. "He doesn't care about you. You were just a puppet for him."

I wanted to pounce on him and rip his innards out. But I collected myself. "He... Didn't even know me. I was just some... crazy fan." I forced out.

He watched me for a moment. "Of course you were. Why would he pay any attention to you." He said before walking out.

I swallowed and fell back into my seat. He was just trying to provoke me. Had he succeeded? I didn't even know.

I could only hope he was lying.

_Sicarius_

17:00. Second target gone, only three to go.

To be entirely honest, I had had my doubts about this whole ordeal when I started it. But it was so satisfying, and so far, so clean. But the fact I had people trailing me remained troublesome.

I didn't believe they could connect the death of some random drug dealer in such a rundown part of town with me. Unless Duncan had managed to get tailed.

The thought made me freeze in my seat at the table as I waited for Burrel.

What if Duncan had been followed? What if he would be the reason this whole thing falls apart?

I composed myself before the nurse got here. What's been done had been done. If I truly had failed to account for that, and if things do go South, I'll have no choice but to deal with it.

For now, I just had to worry about my alibi for 18:00. And as Burrel arrived, dressed in a long, red dress at 17:15, I had it ready.

If they could relate me to the death of Jimmy the dealer, they couldn't do the same with my next target.

_Krieg_

It was 17:15, and I still hadn't gotten the usual call from 'Jimmy'. And I didn't know if I felt more relived or worried than before.

This could mean either that Sicarius had eliminated him, or that the police had gotten to him. Either I was safe from having my identity revealed, or I was essentially already compromised.

Either way, I had to be careful when receiving my calls. I sat in my office in the Reed & Ross law firm, the door locked and blinds shut, and waited for the next one. I smirked. I had referred to it as Reed & Ross law firm in my head. But now it would become just Ross' law firm, wouldn't it?

I couldn't help but laugh a bit to myself. Whether I succeed in the end or not, the moment I was told he had finally died was almost entirely worth it on its own. What I had built up both this company and my own personal network for.

May the bastard rot in hell, I thought to myself. It was then the phone rang. I checked the caller ID to see that it was hidden, and picked it up. This was the number I used solely to answer as Krieg. No business partner or associate had this number. As I spoke into the microphone, my voice was altered beyond recognition.

"This is Krieg. What is the pass code?" I asked.

_Michael Colley_

"Pass code? Did that drug dealer bastard mention any pass code to you?" Banker asked, standing behind my chair in our temporary HQ.

I had to pause and think with the phone in my hand. Time was ticking away each second. Winston was getting closer to tracking the call, but Krieg was certainly inching towards dropping it. Probably changing his number immediately.

I had to think fast. Pass code. Was it something obvious? Would Jimmy have told it to me, or would someone looking for Krieg simply know it? Was it some gang or company secret known by many? I didn't know. But I had to think of something.

I took a breath before speaking.

"There is no pass code, Krieg." I said.

There was a short pause. I glanced and Winston, who appeared to still be dealing with finding the position. He looked at me, a look saying that he needed more time. Krieg had set defenses.

"Correct. Who are you and why do you seek me out?" The raspy voice of Krieg asked.

"I need a job. Something to pay off a debt." I responded.

"How did you find about my services?"

"A friend of mine recommended you to me. Said you're helping him."

"Name your friend."

I paused. Should I say Leroy gave me the number? Jimmy? No. Both responses would be wrong, both would lead him to think that I am merely trying to find him.

"Tristen Sands." I responded.

Another short pause. "I do not know them. Do they use a moniker?"

"I don't know. They are a passing friend, and I don't know them well. Do you have a job for me?" I asked, looking at Winston. He gave a thumbs up. He had tracked it.

"No." Krieg responded and promptly dropped the call. A few seconds too late, Krieg.

We were coming for you.

 


	22. Chapter 22

 

_John Richmond_

I had to get Demire to crack. I just had to! Colley was counting on me here, and I had already informed the chief of our investigation. Colley had given me permission to do so, but still, if it turned out I had revealed our investigation to someone without any result... That'd be bad, to say the least.

I went back into the interrogation room after about a half an hour of having her wait. I plastered a triumphant grin on my face.

"So, it appears your Tristen's going to be either getting sentenced for life or heading to the chair." I said as I took the seat.

She looked up at me in total disbelief. "You're lying."

"Afraid I'm not, Ms. Demire." I said and casually tossed some files onto the desk. Said files described how Sands was found guilty of not only the deaths of Bridges, London, Sleek and Stone, but half a dozen other murders. Said half a dozen murders were all made up, but she didn't need to know that now.

She looked over the files, her expression becoming more and more terrified with each word she read. I gleefully watched her go through page after page. She gulped, and set the files on the desk with a shaky hand.

"I-It's not true, officer. Tristen didn't kill those people. I did."

I shook my head and placed my hands together, setting them on the desk. I leaned forward slightly. I had practiced for this. I knew my choreography.

"Listen, Lee. No matter what we give Sands, he just won't admit his crimes. He keeps claiming we don't have enough evidence. But we do. He's in denial. But if you tell us what actually happened, we can tell him you confessed the truth. And he has no other choice but to do the same. It'll make our lives easier, and lessen both of your punishments." I said.

She watched me for a moment. I saw tears form in her eyes. She broke out crying soon after.

"It's my fault! It's my fault and no one else's!" She shrieked, her head hitting the desk. I was slightly taken aback by this.

Even when presented with all of this, she still claimed it was her who did it. Could it be we had been wrong all along? That it really wasn't Sands?

As I was thinking this, she looked up at me, sniffling and shaking her head.

"If I hadn't had spied on him that night... If I hadn't agreed..."

 _Agreed!?_ So... did that mean..?

She continued shaking her head, grasping it with her hands. "H-he told me to remove the surveillance cameras around that bitch's place. I-I did so... He wasn't a murderer, he was a planner! The people we killed deserved it! Bridges was a manipulative bitch who fucked Tristen's neighbor behind his back, and wouldn't see the greatness in Tristen's goals! Sleek was an asshole who didn't deserve to live on this Earth!"

"Wait, what are Tristen's goals, exactly?"

She looked back up at me, now grinning. "To get rid of as many vile, horrible people as possible. Get rid of those who serve no purpose to this world but make it worse for others. He knew he couldn't ever kill everyone like that. But... He said every one he removed made the world a better place."

"And what about officer London? He hadn't done anything wrong."

"The officer, while unknowingly, still stood in the way of his goals. He had to be removed to show that nothing could stand in his way. Nothing... But now you've caught him... Please, just..."

"We haven't caught him, Ms. Demire."

She blinked, and her expression changed from that of sadness to pure rage.

"But thanks to you, now we will." I stood up and walked out the door. As I shut it, I heard the chair fall behind me and Demire scream in anger.

I had just gotten all we needed to convict Sands.

_Michael Colley_

Banker and I got out of our car outside of Reed & Ross Law Firm. We had brought a fully armed police team along with us, prepared to face a decent amount of protection. If this Krieg was as notable as we had been led to believe, and if he truly was the man we suspected, we had reason to expect a lot of resistance here.

I myself had put on a Kevlar vest and had my gun ready, same with Officer Banker. The glass tower in front of us laid mostly dark, only one of the windows standing out. It was open, and light was coming from it. If I wasn't mistaken, that was the office of Liam Ross, the man who was now the single owner of the firm. Krieg.

I nodded to the team behind us, who split up into three pairs, two remaining outside, two heading towards the back entrance, and two entering through the front door. Banker and I followed the two going in through the front.

The interior of the building was eerily dark and quiet. No employees in sight, not even the receptionist. Had Krieg sent them all home? Was he expecting us, or, on the contrary, believed he was safe? I doubted it. Krieg wouldn't have earned his reputation being an incautious man.

Banker and I took the elevator while the two policemen took the stairs. By now, our backup would have arrived, setting up a perimeter around the building. By having us take the elevator and the two others take the stairs, we cut off all of his conventional ways down. Each floor we went through was soon searched by the second team. We could hear them exclaiming 'clear!' behind the elevator doors.

Banker tightened the grip on his gun as we drew closer to the floor which contained Ross' office. I noticed myself instinctively doing the same. This was it. While we weren't arresting Sands, we were essentially taking care of the man one step above him, the man who had given Sands his targets. We take down Krieg, then we take down Tristen all the same. That was the plan.

The elevator stopped and we both got out, each pointing our gun at the other end of the hall. The police force soon appeared on the stairs and nodded to us.

We made our way to the room from which light was escaping. The glass panels acting as walls between this office and the rest were covered by blinds, yet the door was open. Banker took position next to the door, and looked back at me. I gave him a nod, and he stepped into the doorway, aiming his gun inside.

"...Clear." He grunted out and stepped in. I followed in suite, and so did one of the policemen.

"Where is this bastard?" He asked.

I was about to respond, when I heard something. The faint sound of a quiet struggle, and a whack. I immediately dashed back out of the door to see the second officer disarmed, held by the neck from behind by a young man in business attire. Liam Ross, AKA Krieg.

He pressed the gun in his hand against the officer's temple, backing up. "So. You managed to track me after all. A single mistake after oh so many years has led to this."

Years? So Krieg had been operating like this under our noses for so long. Good lord.

I pointed my own gun at him. "Drop the weapon, Krieg. The building is surrounded. You won't be making it out."

"Oh, but I will. But alas, you won't hear from me again. Not as Ross or as Krieg, at the very least." He grinned at me crookedly, looking directly into my eyes. I didn't look away. I could sense that Banker and the other officer had stepped out behind me, raising their weapons at the man as well.

"I am curious, though. What is it that you wanted of me?" He asked.

"We are investigating a series of murders made by one of your... Associates. Tristen Sands."

"Like I told you over the phone, detective Colley. I haven't heard of this man."

I wasn't perturbed by the fact he knew my name. Someone with his contacts was expected to know who was investigating him and his colleagues.

"He's the man you ordered to kill Daniel Stone."

He watched me for a moment before responding. "I see. Then I doubt you will catch him, detective."

"And why is that, Krieg?"

"Because Sicarius has planned for this exact situation."

_Sicarius_

Burrel and I were having our dessert as my phone rang. Not my main phone, but the one I used to contact Krieg.

"Excuse me. I have to take this." I said to Catherin and smiled, standing up.

"Oh, okay, Mr. Sandy." She said and smiled back. Ugh.

I headed to the side of the restaurant and answered the call.

"Yes?"

"Sicarius. Krieg has been compromised." A voice I didn't recognize responded.

I blinked. "Who is this?"

"Doesn't matter. You can call me your informant. Krieg told me to inform him and any important hires if any major player in our little game got identified and such. And he's the biggest player of them all, I'm afraid."

"Understood. Contact Bird and tell him to be ready for pickup. He'll know what that means."

"As do I. Good luck, Sicarius." The call ended there.

I had to think for a moment. The most important thing now was getting my follower off my tail. Anything else could wait. Matter of fact, nothing else mattered at all at this point. If they had Krieg and were already suspecting me, I was done for.

I ditched both of my phones then and there. They could have been used to track me. And that was something I seriously didn't need.

I took in a breath and returned to Burrel.

"I think it's about time we headed home, don't you think, Catherin?"

She nodded. "Yes, I guess it's getting a little bit late."

"Which home would like to go to?" I asked with a faint smirk on my lips.

Time to get rid of my tail.

_Michael Colley_

"Sicarius. Sands' moniker, I assume?" I asked, not lowering my weapon.

"I assume so. At least, that's what you're leading me to believe." He took another step back down the hall. "It's Latin. Means 'assassin', or 'killer'."

I nodded. A rather clichéd name, but fitting.

"Though I doubt he was thinking of it, the Sicarius hahni, the most known spider of the sicarius species, seems an oddly fitting creature for him. The six-eyed sand spider."

I knew exactly what Krieg was doing. He was stalling.

I pointed at Banker with my empty hand behind my back, and levitated my hand close to my ear, hoping he'd get the signal, and Krieg wouldn't. I heard Banker backing back up into the room. Krieg continued, taking a step closer to the end of the hall every now and again.

"The sand spider is a patient predator and hunter. It can go as long as a year without a meal, or a single drop of drink. Much like Sicarius, don't you think? Patient, lurking in the back of the mind until striking one day, unsuspected. The sand spider has excellent natural camouflage." Krieg grinned. "Doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does, but it has finally failed him. And now both of you will end up paying the price for it."

He laughed loudly. "And if you consider what Sicarius has been doing so far, taking chunks out of the worst parts of our town, killing off small time leaders of drug circles. It's almost like the spider, too, which bites its victims, necrotizing their flesh, often enough to cause whole limbs to die off."

I glanced to the side to see how Banker was doing. He was pocketing his phone, but stopped, listening to something. He looked to me and mouthed 'chopper'.

"And Sicarius and I are alike in one regard for certain." Krieg said as the glass windows behind him shattered to pieces. I almost reflexively covered my eyes, and once I uncovered them saw the helicopter behind said window. "Just like the Sand spider, when disturbed we flee and prepare for our next prey!" Krieg fired his gun and climbed aboard as the body of the poor officer hit the ground. The policeman behind me opened fire, and moments later so did I, but I knew it was too late. The helicopter started gaining altitude.

I turned to the two officers behind me. "Make sure we have people following that chopper, don't lose it! We need to catch Krieg alive if we can, the man has information on an entire network of killers!"

Banker and the other officer nodded. While officer Banker pulled out his phone, rushing towards the stairs, and the other man took off his radio to report what happened, I ran up to the elevator and pressed the button for the roof. Once inside the elevator, I took out my own phone.

I needed to call my own ride.

 


	23. Chapter 23

 

_Roy Winston_

I pocketed my phone, having just ended a call with Banker. They had found Krieg. We had all we needed on Sands. It was time to make the arrest.

Sands and Burrel had just arrived at Burrel's place, and the two of them had gone inside. I went over to the door, making sure my gun was ready just in case Sands tried anything funny.

I knocked on the door hard.

"Coming!" I heard Burrel call out from somewhere inside.

Five seconds passed. Ten. I was ready to kick down the door when it opened, Catherin Burrel smiling brightly on the other side. Seeing me with my gun out made her stumble back, gasping.

I flashed my ID. "Where's Sands?" I asked as I stepped in.

"H-he's upstairs, but I don't..."

I didn't wait for her to finish and started heading upstairs, towards Burrel's room. Sands couldn't escape.

_Sicarius_

Burrel had shyly brought me up to her room. We sat down on her bed and I smiled at her. Now, knowing someone was tailing me and had just found Krieg, one could expect...

There was a knock on the door below. Catherin hopped up from her seat. "Coming!" She called out and turned to me as she was heading out. "You can fell free to, um, get all nice and comfortable, I'll be right back!" She said and skipped out. I waited two seconds to let her get down. Then hopped over the bed and over to the window, cracking it open and looking out. It was a decent drop below. And by decent, I meant potentially leg breaking - even worse with my already gammy leg.

There was, however, a decently sized window sill under the window. I placed one leg on it, then the other. Once somewhat certain it could hold my weight, I carefully leaned out, and climbed on top of the roof. It was then I heard the door burst open.

"Freeze, police!" A male voice called out from below. I froze on the roof, doing my best to not make any sound as I slid my hand into my jacket. I carefully took out my gun, a suppressed M1911. Special order from one of the contacts provided by Krieg, the end fitted for said suppressor and a reflex sight added to it. California gun laws prohibited the issue of concealed carry licenses to regular citizens, and silencers were made illegal altogether in all of California, but if it came to the police finding out about these guns, they would be my smallest issue.

So, it was the police who were chasing me after all. And as such, so was Colley. Well, the detective would be in for several nasty surprises tonight. I had no intention of getting arrested. Not now. Not so soon.

I held my breath and waited. If shit went to shit, I had a Kevlar vest on me as well. It should at least keep my alive when dealing with the pistols the investigators were carrying.

_Roy Winston_

Burrel's room was empty, but I immediately noticed the window. No, there was no way the psychopath had jumped out. He'd kill himself like that.

I walked over, my gun still raised. I looked out the window, not seeing anything. Still looking outside I took out my phone and speed dialed Banker.

"Banker, I have a situation here. It seems Sands has gotten away. Requesting backup and search patrols in the area." I said once he picked up the phone.

"Roger that, but they'll be a bit limited. Krieg got away, we have our guys chasing down his chopper."

 _Fuck._ "Got it. I'll keep looking for him. Will call if anything develops." I said and ended the call. As I was placing my phone in my pocket, I heard something. It appeared to be coming from... Up top.

No, there was just no way. The fucker was on the roof!?

I stepped back from the window and aimed up slightly. "Tristen Sands, I know you're up there. You are under arrest for the murders of Michelle Bridges, Carl London, Jack Sleek, Daniel Stone and Jimmy Flo!" I exclaimed. "In a matter of minutes the house will be surrounded. You're not getting away."

There was a moment of quiet. "Fine. You got me. I'm coming down, just don't shoot." His voice came a bit muffled from above.

"Drop any weapons you have down in front of the window."

"I'm unarmed, damn it!"

I kept my weapon aimed at the window as a pair of legs appeared In it. Then followed the bottom part of his torso. He was now standing on the window sill, carefully reaching one leg in, then the other. He was holding onto the overhang with one of his hands.

"Nice and easy, Sands. Don't do anything fu..."

Suddenly one of his legs swung forward rapidly, the man flinging into the room. The hand that wasn't holding onto the overhang was holding a gun. My eyes widened. I took a shot, the bang from my weapon echoing throughout the house and outside as the window was open. I saw it hit his leg; I saw the blood come out in a spurt. I then heard a much quieter gunshot, this one from Sands' gun.

I stumbled back as the bullet hit me in the chest. Another gunshot, this bullet hitting me in the arm I was holding my gun with. I felt a sharp, unbearable pain course through my body as the shot chipped the bone. I dropped my gun, screaming and clutching my wound.

Sands hit the ground hard himself, landing on his now wounded leg. Or, his newly wounded leg, the same one that had been injured in the accident.

Through the tears in my eyes I saw my gun laying beside me, and tried to reach for it.

Another shot, making my head dart back as it hit me in my neck. In those last moments I spent alive, the moments I knew it was over, as my mouth filled with my own blood, I condemned this bastard to rot in hell.

Colley, Banker and the others would make sure of it.

_Sicarius_

The pain was rather severe, and so was the actual damage to my leg. I had 6 more bullets left in my 1911. I groaned and checked the detective's revolver. 5 bullets in that one. I dug through his pockets and found the keys to his car and a phone.

I shakily got up on my feet, holstering the revolver but keeping my own gun in my hand. I stumbled out of the room and looked over the railing to see Burrel and her son about to leave in fear about their lives.

"Stop right there!" I shouted out, firing a warning shot and shattering the glass panel on the door in front of them. Burrel shrieked and covered her head, the young boy hugging her to try and comfort her. How sweet.

I limped down the stairs, leaving a small trail of blood behind me. I kept the weapon aimed not at the woman, but at her child. "I'm going to need to ask some favors of you, Catherin."

_Michael Colley_

I walked out onto the roof of the Reed & Ross Law Firm offices. Krieg had just left in his chopper, and I could see the cars starting their chase all the way down below. No doubt the police choppers would set out any minute. Bu I had my own ride to take me.

And soon the chopper, flown by one Ricardo Valirez came into sight.

I always had him on standby on times like this during investigations. Just for situations like these, when catching a fleeing criminal became such high priority. It was expensive, sure, but the fact I spent such small amounts of money on a daily basis meant I could generally afford it. A day would come when I couldn't, but not too soon, I hoped.

The helicopter hovered above the roof of the building, low enough to allow me to climb in. He immediately set off again.

"Guessing we're chasing that one, huh?" He asked, starting to take chase after the escaping aircraft.

"Yes, and it's of the highest priority that we catch them. Preferably alive." I responded and opened up the small footlocker at the back of the chopper, taking out a sniper rifle, a Heckler & Koch PSG1. Designed specifically for increased accuracy and less so for range, it was the prime example of what a police sniper rifle should be like.

"Our best option is to follow them until they land. But if they fire on us," I said as I chambered the first round, "that'll be their mistake, not ours."

As I placed the gun by my side on the floor, my phone rang. I quickly pulled it out. Winston. I put the phone to my ear.

"Colley. What is it, Winston?"

"D-detective..." Catherin Burrel's voice responded shakily.

"Ms. Burrel, what's going on Where's detective Winston?"

"T-Tristen... He wants me to tell you that h-he's won... "

This was bad. This was very bad. I could only assume Winston was either captive or dead, probably the latter.

"Stay calm, Ms. Burrel. We'll save you. Are you and your son okay, and where are you now?" I asked, keeping an eye on the helicopter, to which we were rapidly drawing closer.

"W-we're fine... We're in a car, he's driving, he has a gun pointed at Jimmy and I'm just so scared..."

"He let you call me?" I asked, puzzled.

"No... He made me."

_John Richmond_

I was speeding down the streets of Malibu, towards Burrel's home. We were finally ready to convict the bastard. Apparently Colley and Banker had found the guy giving Sands directions to kill. Together with Demire's confession, we'd be able to put the both of them behind bars for a long time.

As I was driving there, I noticed a car coming this way. Winston's car.

Had I passed by Sands on my way here without noticing? I pressed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt.

Winston's car darted by. In the brief moment I saw the salon of the car, I could make one thing out for certain.

That wasn't Winston in the driver seat.

I turned the car around as fast as I could, pursuing the vehicle. What was going on? Was it Sands in there? How the hell he'd get Winston's car?

I didn't like this one bit, but I kept following. I'd figure it out.

_Devon Banker_

I was in the passenger seat of a police car, one officer Reynolds in the driver seat. Our police lights and alarms were blaring as we chased after the chopper down the streets of LA and Malibu. The bastard won't get away with killing one of our guys and so many innocents.

My phone rang. As I grabbed it out of my pocket and put it to my ear I spotted Richmond's name in the caller ID.

"Richmond. Have you gotten Sands?" I asked.

"No, but Winston's car's been taken by someone, presumably by Sands. I can't get in contact with Winston, and I'm currently in pursuit of the vehicle." Richmond responded.

"Understood. Do not lose visual contact of the car, I'll have the patrols track your coordinates and head to your location."

"Got it. I won't let him get away, sir."

I ended the call and forwarded the GPS coordinates, which indicated that Richmond was heading towards the Malibu beach, to every unit currently after Sands, though there weren't many of them. If Krieg had orchestrated the deaths of Reed and Stone, and was behind as many crimes as we suspected, there was no doubt he was our priority target at the time.

The chopper turned off towards the sea, pursued by two police choppers and a seemingly civilian one. But I recognized it well enough. Colley was in pursuit as well.

_John Richmond_

Winston's car screeched to a halt by the beach. I stopped my car close behind. I took out my handgun and was about to shout for Sands to get out of his car, when the passenger door opened and nurse Burrel was shoved out onto the ground, whimpering.

I stopped, raising my gun as the next figure stepped out of the vehicle. That is, two figures. Tristen Sands was holding Jimmy, Burrel's son, by the collar from behind, a silenced handgun pointed at the back of his head. The kid was shaking in fear. I spotted how Sands had a noticeable limp again, a bloody bandage around his previously injured leg.

I could see Sands' grin from this distance. "Good evening, officer! What a nice surprise to see you here tonight!"

I didn't respond, not lowering my gun, keeping it trained on Tristen's head. But I couldn't shoot. Risk of hitting the kid or missing was too large. And even if I didn't hit, he could just shoot the kid dead on the spot.

"Now, unless you want this child to die, I suggest you drop the gun, Officer Richmond." He said.

I hesitated just for a moment before placing the gun down onto the gun carefully, making sure my hands were visible to him the whole time. I straightened my back and looked back up the psychopath and his two hostages.

"You're not getting away," I said, "The police are already on their way here. They had my GPS coordinates and will be here in about a minute. I suggest you give up now. Nobody else has to get hurt."

"Is that so? Well then, officer, I am afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you. I don't care if anyone else gets hurt. My major goals matter more than the lives of these two. Or you. But I do not kill needlessly." He said, calmly and collected, morbidly contrasting with the crying child in his arms, the woman hyperventilating on the ground and the police sirens in the distance. Police sirens and... choppers? Yes, from central Malibu, I spotted a single chopper drawing closer, pursued by several of our choppers, and one unmarked one. And another chopper was coming in from the water side. I could tell that one would arrive a bit quicker.

"I suggest you leave now, Richmond. As do the rest of you. Because you're correct. There is no need for anyone else to lose their life today. But I will not hesitate to make it so.

I felt myself shudder. I didn't doubt he would. My heart was racing, I didn't know what to do. At this point it was too late for me to get my gun. If I acted out, both the child and I would die. At this point, I would die first at that. I couldn't do anything to stop him on my own.

The choppers were somewhat close now, the one from the seaside now lowering, beginning to hover above the sand. Tristen pulled Burrel up on her feet and shoved her towards the helicopter with his gun-toting hand.

"Get back in your car. Do not get out until our chopper has left. If you try anything, you will regret it. You will get no warning." He said, essentially throwing the kid into the chopper, then showing in Burrel, and finally climbing in himself. I slowly picked my gun up from the ground and got back in my car. I sat there, gripping the wheel. I heard the sirens draw closer behind me. My backup was getting close.

The chopper began to gain altitude as the one in front of the other group of helicopters passed over. It began to follow it, the police ones behind it immediately.

Two patrol cars stopped next to mine and Winston's, pairs of officers getting out and raising their guns. They were armed with assault rifles, and prepared to open fire, as a loud bang echoed through the neighborhood. One of the officers fell to the ground, blood gushing out from his neck. The others looked around to see where the shot was coming from. Another shot. Terrified, I spotted the muzzle flash in Sands' home, which was just down the road. I opened my window as fast as I could.

"Get back in your car!" I exclaimed at the remaining two. "There's a sniper in Sands' home!"

The officers looked at me confusedly for a very short moment, before deciding to take cover behind their car. Another shot, the bullet ricocheting off the side of the car. One of the men began to open fire towards where the shots were coming from, firing bursts from his assault rifle. It wasn't nearly accurate enough. He didn't know where the sniper was.

His brain and skull were blasted out the back of his head, spreading across the sand in a mixture of blood. The other officer, armed with a shotgun, froze. He seemed to be holding his breath, and praying to himself.

I looked down at the quarter panel. Was this really what all our hard work and investigation led to? The villains getting away, our own men slaughtered.

My hands gripped the wheel again. The choppers were somewhat far off shore now.

No. This didn't end like this. Someone would pay.

They'd pay for London, they'd pay for Winston, and they'd paid for all these men who I didn't even recognize in the dark of night. Whoever they were, they wouldn't get away. I had to show there was justice in our world.

I started the car engine, swerved it around and floored it, heading directly towards Sands' home. Another shot, this one hitting the front of my car, leaving a hole in the hood. I kept going. I was a couple dozen feet away from the building now.

The second shot hit the windshield, not too far off my head. Ripples formed in the glass around the bullet hole, the bullet itself passing through and flying past me. I grabbed for the door handle and opened it, jumping out, the car now driving on the sand, not the road.

I jumped out as the next shot shattered the windshield entirely. I hit the ground pretty hard; my body ached as I rolled across the ground, sand going all over my clothes and in my shoes, hitting me in the face. That didn't matter now. Not even slightly.

I rushed towards the front door, a shot hitting the ground just behind me as the car crashed into the side of the building, the sounds of wood breaking, glass shattering, metal bending and a fire starting sounding off in the night.

I ran inside the building, pulling out my gun as I went through the door. There was a fire around my car, gas having leaked out. It would blow up soon. But I had to get the sniper.

I hurried upstairs. There were no decent vantage points on the first floor. I could count that out no problem. I kept my gun aimed ahead of me as I went over to the side of the house where the shots could have been coming from.

As I was about to open one of the doors, presumably leading to Sands' bedroom, a shot passed through it, clipping me in the side. I grunted and stumbled back, then regained my stance and pressed against the wall by the door, next to an old standing lamp.

My side was bleeding pretty badly, a burning pain coming from it. I'd need medical help, and quick. But I had to deal with this asshole first.

Another shot, chipping away a piece of the door. I had to think fast. As the bullet passed through, I pushed the lamp over, making it land on the ground with a thud. A moment passed in silence then.

The door slowly opened outward. Through the part of it that had been broken off I saw a figure dressed in black. A hand holding a handgun of seemingly Russian make extended out, the figure that said hand was attached to spinning around as it got past the door.

I ducked and punched the bastard in the gut as they fired. Now, I might not have been the toughest in our force, I might not have had the most experience, but I had a good punch, that's for sure.

As the figure stumbled back I fired upon it, hitting them in the chest. I looked up to see them stumble back more. I could make out that their face was masked, and they were dressed entirely in a light, dark outfit, consisting of plain pants with an attached holster, a dark shirt, boots and a scoped rifle on their back.

I fired again, and again, and again. Bullet after bullet hit the bastard in the chest. They had a Kevlar vest, I could tell, but even that couldn't help them. They fell back onto the floor, their chest bleeding profusely.

I was panting. My side was bleeding, and my body ached from the jump from my car earlier. But damn it, I felt good.

I stumbled down the staircase, and glanced to my left again to see the entire room on fire. Good. Let the bastard's house burn.

I pushed myself out the door and fell down on the ground. I dragged myself away from the building, the officer from before running up to help me. My vision faded out as I saw the lights of, and heard the approaching ambulance. I smiled as I went out. I'd be fine.

 


	24. Chapter 24

 

_Michael Colley_

Krieg's chopper wasn't gaining any distance, but it wasn't getting any closer, either. Unless it slowed down, we wouldn't catch up to it. Our best shot was staying on its tail until we get support from San Diego. We couldn't let him get over the Us/Mexico border. If the San Diego police department wouldn't intercept him, I was prepared to take my shot.

Ricardo looked back at me. "So, who's the guy we're after?"

"One Liam Ross, goes by the name of Krieg. If our information is correct, he's the leader of what just might be the largest, most inclusive organized crime group we have ever encountered."

He whistled. "Damn. Well, better catch 'em, then."

I nodded and looked out the window, about to prepare my shot already. But something caught my attention on the beach ahead of us. A chopper was taking off, two cars parked next to it. Winston's and Richmond's.

Sicarius. His chopper flew off, now between us and Krieg's aircraft. What was his plan?

Richmond's backup arrived at the scene. As we passed them, I began to hear gunfire. Sniper shots.

I looked back to see two of the policemen who had arrived as backup down on the ground, dead, the other two covering behind their car.

"Do we turn back and help those guys?" Valirez asked.

I thought just for a moment. "No. If I had to guess, either Krieg or Sands set it up and are hoping just for that. For us to turn back around and stop following them. As crazy as it might seem, I trust Richmond. It's up to him now."

Ricardo nodded, not straying his course.

_Sicarius_

Our cavalcade of choppers was now flying over the water, towards San Diego and the US/Mexico border. But with all those cops on our tail we wouldn't make it there.

Burrel was sitting on the floor, crying, her son trying to calm her to no avail. Bird, a young Japanese man was piloting the vehicle, having picked me up next to my place like we had planned.

Krieg provided me with a set of contacts so I could eliminate the targets he gave me, but allowed me to use it for my own good as well.

I made a deal with three of those contacts. 'Bird', a Japanese-American former police pilot gone off the grid. 'Ra', a former member of the Israeli defense force, now hitman and sniper for hire. And 'Jimmy', a man I asked to contact Duncan and offer him a cheaper deal than most other dealers. I would have used him to keep an eye on him and eliminate Duncan if necessary. Jimmy was one of my targets, but replacing him with any other dealer wouldn't be too difficult. 

Bird was instructed to, if Sicarius would ever end up in danger of being revealed, head to the specified location in Malibu and pick me up. He was the only one of Krieg's contacts who had seen my face, but I trusted him, as did Krieg himself. He hadn't betrayed or failed anyone before.

Once Bird had been called and told to be ready for pickup, he further contacted Ra. Ra would enter my house and position themselves in over watch of the landing area. If the police arrived at the scene, he was free to fire at will. Judging by the gunshots coming from the beach, they had.

One of the police choppers tailing us slowed down and turned back, heading towards said gunshots. Excellent. But Colley, the one man I was still worried about, was still chasing us.

I pulled Burrel up on her feet, away from her child. She whimpered, shaking. I looked up ahead to make sure Krieg was still going at the same speed, and then shoved her towards the door. The kid jumped up, screaming in a mixture of fear and anger, trying to punch me. I shoved him back on the ground, holding Burrel by the collar.

"Bird. I have a plan for escape." I said.

"I'm listening." He responded, not even glancing back.

_Krieg_

I looked back. There were three choppers behind us. A police one, Bird's, and an unmarked one. If I had to guess, I would say the unmarked one was the detective's.

I went to the back of ours to pick up one of the AK47 assault rifles, provided by one of my contacts in Cuba. I was prepared to take down the police chopper at the very least. It was then that Bird's chopper, carrying Sicarius, began to lower its speed slightly. I noticed this and stopped.

Whatever Sicarius was planning, I would let him do it first.

_Sicarius_

I shoved Burrel back on the floor and nudged her son towards the edge with my gun.

"Jump." I said.

He gulped and turned back to me.

"No." He said with quite a bit of determination. I grinned.

"Hoping to protect your mother? To be a big man at such a young age? A hero?" I pointed the gun at his forehead again. "You won't. You are not a hero. Not if you stand in my way now, die and make me kill your lovely mother as well." The woman wailed at that.

The boy shivered. I didn't lower my gun. "Three."

He turned back towards the door.

"Two."

He didn't move.

"One."

He was scared. He remained where he was standing. I wasn't going to give him any more time. We simply didn't have it.

"Turn us around, Bird." I said and fired, the bullet blasting through the boy's head, his blood and grey matter splattering out across the sea water, nothing more than a 'pop' from my gun, barely audible over the sound of half a dozen rotors whirring.

Burrel screamed as her son's body fell forward, then down, down, down. The splash from his body hitting the waterline remained unheard in all the noise. But I knew they had seen it.

I pulled Catherin back up on her feet as the chopper slowed down. She was crying, but didn't resist. She was broken. I pushed her out of the chopper after her son. I watched her fall, her eyes wide, her mouth open to scream, but not a noise came out.

I didn't see her hit the floor as we were now facing the oncoming choppers, Krieg gaining distance behind us.

"Keep going." I said to Bird, and raised my gun.

"Sicarius, what's the plan for our escape, exactly?" He asked.

"Not ours. My escape." I pulled the trigger and dropped the gun as his head jerked forward, the chopper still flying towards the police chopper. I jumped out just moments before they collided, the police pilot unable to maneuver themselves away.

I fell towards the water, trying to position myself in the air as to not die on impact. As the water drew closer, I heard a gunshot, and a bullet grazed my already injured leg, The pain made itself known again before I hit the water, air knocked out of my lungs.

And Sicarius knocked out of control.

_Michael Colley_

Three bodies. The first one falling limply into the water, a relatively small figure. Jimmy. A taller figure, hair flowing as it fell, body stiff. Burrel.

The chopper was now facing us and drawing closer. "Ricardo!"

"Got it!"

The chopper swayed out of collision course. I kept my gun trained on the oncoming one as it crashed into the police one, costing even more lives. Another figure fell from the chopper just before said crash. No, not fell. Jumped out.

Sicarius.

I took my shot, knowing the chances of it being a killing shot, or even hitting, were slim. But I believed it had connected at least slighty once I fired.

I pulled back into the chopper. "Keep following Krieg's chopper! Coast guard will take care of Sicarius, we'll need to help the San Diego folk with getting this man!" I instructed Ricardo, and aimed out at Krieg's aircraft again.

I wasn't sure Sicarius would get caught. But Krieg remained a priority target never the less, if only because at this point his escape was much more likely.

_Krieg_

I grinned as I watched the bodies fall from the chopper and the following collision. Through the whirring of the rotors I faintly heard a gunshot afterwards. I wasn't sure if Sicarius had lived through his plan, but I intended to find out later.

"Fire the flares. Directly at them." I ordered my pilot.

Moments later, those flares shot out from the back of the chopper.

_Michael Colley_

I saw Krieg in the chopper. I was considering taking the shot, when I was blinded by a series of flares flying out the back of the vehicle, towards ours. I covered my eyes and retreated back in the chopper momentarily. When I looked back out, the chopper was flying noticeable lower, and Krieg was gone.

The choppers from San Diego came into sight, but they came too late.

Krieg had gotten away.

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

 

_Tristen Sands_

My entire body was in pain. I was out of breath. My leg felt like it was burning. I had no idea where I was, what had happened, or how I had gotten where I was. But what worried me the most was quite possibly the fact that I was under water.

I saw lights in one direction and darkness in the other. I put one and one together, and swam up towards the lights.

I got up and took in a breath of air. My injured leg was dragging me down, and I saw blood flowing up from it, floating on top of the water, rippled by the waves.

Two helicopters were flying above, and I saw a burning wreckage fall to the water below just a short distance away, sending large waves in my direction.

I felt myself beginning to panic. I had to get out of the water. I began swimming towards the distant shore, trying to keep my breathing even and not to think about the fact that my leg was bleeding, and felt like it was being ripped apart as the seawater got into the wound.

I eventually made it to shore, not too far from my house, and collapsed in the sand. In the distance I saw police vehicles and an ambulance. I actually did a double take at where my house was.

Because it was essentially no there. It had collapsed into cinders.

My eyes were filling up with tears. What had happened? Who had done all this?

I saw a female figure running up to me, carrying something, like a stick or something.

"H-Help!" I called out to her weakly.

"You bastard!" The voice responded. "You fucking killed Jack! You killed them all!" She said, choking on tears.

I blinked, falling on my back. I tried to crawl back away, my wound, the water, and something in my jacket weighing me down. "Wait, stop! You're mistaking me for someone else; I don't know who you are!" I tried to explain.

She kept advancing, the thing in her hands taking shape. A fire poker. Jesus Christ. I called out for help again, looking around. It didn't seem like anyone by my house heard any of this. A motorboat was approaching from the distance. At this moment I felt whoever that was, was my one chance for rescue. I looked back at the woman.

She screamed in anger, swinging back. Out of nowhere, almost as a morbid reflex, my hand grabbed for the thing in my jacket, grasping at it. A gun.

I pulled it out, a mean looking revolver, and fired at her almost blindly. She shuddered and stopped before striking. The piece of metal in her hands fell to the sand, and she dropped to her knees. I gulped and watched her fall on her side, dead, a massive hole in her chest. My hand was shaking. My entire body was shaking.

I was a murderer after all.

I didn't even notice as the boat stopped by the beach. A pair of strong hands dragged me away and threw me onto the deck, the revolver clanging against the wood as it fell from my hand.

I looked up to see a young man in a business suit, splattered with blood and water. He had hard features, long, dark hair, and was clean shaven. Next to him stood my 'savior', a burly man in a coast guard uniform.

"Wh-who are you?" I muttered.

"My name is Krieg. And we have much to discuss, Sicarius." He said.

Those names felt familiar. Like I had known them a long time ago. No, more like a passing acquaintance had mentioned them in conversation.

And it scared me with its familiarity.

I gulped. What would I do now? I was a killer. With what had just happened, I didn't doubt I killed Michelle and Jack, either.

"Tell me what happened." I said.

"Gladly." Krieg responded. "But not yet."

Before I could respond again, the man kicked me in the head, knocking me out cold.

_Krieg_

I ordered Smalls to pull Sicarius inside and hide him, then briefly glanced at the scene unfolding on the beach. I smirked to myself. What a mess Sicarius had caused. Or, hell, was it Sands? 

Either way, I figured it would be better to bring him along. I had already lost three contacts today, and I wasn't going to lose the man responsible for those losses. So, I joined my men inside the cabin, taking off my suit and replacing it with a coast guard uniform which had already been waiting for me.

"Head for international waters. We're leaving the country."

 

EPILOGUE

_Michael Colley_

I knocked on the door before stepping into the hospital room. Two days had passed since the incident, and the police force was still shaken. We had lost seven of our men, Winston included. Not only that, but we had let Krieg get away. While we found the bodies of James and Catherin Burrel in the water, as well as an unidentified man in the wreckage and the body of Julia Sleek on the beach, we did not find Sands. It was safe to assume he had also escaped.

And it was my fault. Sicarius had played me. Even if I had put Richmond in charge, it was too little too late. I was too predictable. I had underestimated Sicarius' ability to adapt. I had led Winston and the other officers to their deaths. 

When I stepped in, Banker was already present, sitting by Richmond's bed. Richmond had been admitted with a gunshot wound to his side, severe bruising and first degree burns. Nothing major, as the bullet hadn't hit any internal organs. Still, what he had done had genuinelly impressed me. He was a hero due for receiving a medal of valor next week. And yet, he didn't look too happy.

"Afternoon, officer Banker, officer Richmond," I greeted them as I closed the door behind myself.

"...Detective Colley. I heard about Winston... I..." Richmond started to speak.

"Don't. It was my fault, and had nothing to do with either of you.

"Bullshit, Colley," said Banker, making me turn my head to face him in surprise. "You can't take the blame for yourself."

"And why is that, officer Banker?" I asked.

"Because if you take all the blame, you're the one who gets to go after those sons of bitches for revenge," Banker said. Richmond forced a small smile out and nodded.

I sighed, but, before I could respond, the door opened without a knock. In stepped two people in dark suits. One of them was a young female, with blonde hair tied up in a knot on the back of her head. The other was a man in his late twenties or early thirties, with soft facial features and a crew cut. The woman certainly looked a lot meaner.

"Colley, I assume?" The woman asked, throwing a single glance towards me.

"Indeed I am," I answered, putting my hands in my pockets and scanning the woman. The woman was wearing a suit jacket just like the man was, but had opted to go for a business skirt instead. If she was who I was told would be seeing me today, then this came as a bit of a surprise.

She cleared her throat, bringing my attention back to her face. She seemed upset. I didn't really get why, but she did.

"Detective Colley, I've come to inform you that the FBI will taking over your investigation. You'll be handing over anything you have on Krieg and Tristen Sands to our agents, and you will be ceasing any involvement in our search for them. Have I made myself clear?"

Banker stood up at that, making the man next to the woman take a step forward. "What? You can't be seriously expecting us to drop everything after what happened!"

"It's exactly _because_ of what happened that you will be leaving this to us. You've messed things up enough as it is. You won't be getting another shot. I'll be seeing you at your station this afternoon.  Bring anything you have on either of the men we're looking for."

"And what about the people in this city? What do we tell them about what happened, and the murders that took place before?"

"We will be making our own statement. You can tell them that Demire was responsible for the murders if you so desire. Neither you, nor anyone else in this town needs to know more." 

After saying that, the woman turned around and left, her heels clicking on the tiled floors as she walked off into the hall, the man trailing behind her. Heeled shoes, too. She must not be a field agent.

"...What are we going to do, detective Colley?" Richmond asked.

_Sandra Williams_

"I think you might've been a bit harsh there, Sandra," Steven said as we walked down the hall, away from the hospital room.

"I don't care. Their incompetence resulted in a dozen deaths and one of the most wanted men in the country getting away. They had their chance," I answered.

"I know, but... They lost so many of their men. I feel bad for them."

"Feel bad for those that died, not for those that lived, Steven. Or, better yet, don't feel bad at all. You won't live long if you do in this line of work."

_Michael Colley_

I turned around to face the two officers. For a moment I just looked between the two of them before speaking.

"Our investigation wasn't official to begin with now, was it?"

 

 

**_TO BE CONTINUED_ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've finishes this book, I'd just like to take the time to give my thanks. I wrote this book the first time I tried NaNoWriMo, and actually managed to get those 50 thousand words in. Finishing this book at the time made me realize how much I actually loved writing, and that it was truly what I wanted to do in life. So, if you've actually read through all of it and can actually say you enjoyed it... Thank you.
> 
> ~Walter


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